Black and Red
by Eboni
Summary: In the basement of the Hall of Justice, there's a monument to another member of the bat family who died in the line of duty. He wears a Robin costume, but who is he really? Boy Terror to Dick Grayson's Boy Wonder, he was Jason Todd, and he has a story to tell. (Set a year after the first season of Young Justice)
1. Prologue

Black and Red

Summary: _Jason Todd is the Boy Terror to Dick Grayson's Boy Wonder and proud of it. Where Dick is graceful, Jason is brutal, but they work together like clockwork. Jason treasures his second family and is willing to kill to protect it. _

Genre: _Drama/Family_

Main Characters: _Jason Todd_ and _Dick Grayson_

Category: _Young Justice_/_Batman_

_(Author's Note: Roy Harper is never captured nor cloned in this world.)_

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Prologue

_I killed my first dirt bag when I was 13, and I ain't sorry about it. I wouldna' done it if I hadn't thought the bastard killed my brother, but hey, the world's short one murderous, little girl-raping freak. The parents of those little girls ain't crying over that slime, and neither is my brother. Maybe _I_ cried a little bit, but only a little 'cuz I never killed a person before. But that feeling, that sick feeling, it goes away after you do it a few more times, because you're doing it for good, you know? You're saving people. You're a hero._

_I'm a hero. I'm Falcon, the Boy Terror, and no crook crosses me twice. _

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_Author's Note: Hello! This is my first attempt at writing a Batman/Young Justice fic. I love the comics, I love the shows, and I write stories for just about everything else. (I might be exaggerating a little on the "everything".) So, tell me how I did. What's the verdict: Like it? Hate it? Don't care either way? Any way you liked it, let me know! Please review!_


	2. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hey, still with me? That's great!

Disclaimer: Forgot to put this on the prologue. I do not own anything in the DCU/

* * *

Chapter 1

My brother ain't moving. My hyperactive, won't stay still even for cash brother is face down on the ground. _Shit, is he breathing?_ I run to him; I don't care how much noise I'm making. My heart is in my throat; I'm choking on it, and I think I'm gonna throw up.

_Please be alive. Please be alive_.

I kneel down next to my brother, fingers going to his neck; checking for a pulse. I feel the rapid throb of his pulse under the pads of my fingers and moan in relief. I almost fall flat on my ass; I don't realize I'm not breathing right until I hear the sound of my own gasps for air. My head's spinning a bit.

I giggle some; maybe I'm hysterical or something, but damn I thought my brother was dead. I look over my shoulder at the sicko-freak lying on his side a few feet away; a steel bat by his bleeding head. I chuckle some more. I'd whacked that freak with his own bat. Let's see him use that to bash in another little girl's skull. That sick bastard'll be lucky if he can eat pudding through a straw for the next few decades.

I snarl at way the side of my brother's face is turning black and blue. That bastard got him a few times with the bat. _Did I hit him hard enough?_ I don't know, but I felt something crack when I swung and the hit connected. I hope I broke his skull open. Hope I made his brain bleed, like he did that four year old tonight.

"Robin?" I touch my brother's face, giving him a light slap on his uninjured cheek. "Robin! Wake up, bro. Come on."

The longer Dickie-bird stays quiet, the faster my heart goes. _Shit. Shit. Shit_. If that bastard knocked my brother into some kinda coma… "Robin, come on, man!"

I hear a soft whimper from Dick and he twitches. "That's it, Robin. Come on, wake up," I coax. I've done this more times than I like to talk about, but Dickie-bird can say the same. I keep patting his cheek until he turns his face. I can't see his eyes through the mask, so I can't check his pupils for signs of a concussion.

"You okay?" I ask. I leave my hand on his cheek… and frown. God, his face is on fire. I move my hand to his forehead. He's hot, fever hot. _What the hell?_

Dick lets out a weak gasp, a flinch contorting his features. "N…no."

I think I'm gonna have a heart attack and my stomach is a pretzel. _No?_ Dickie-bird never says he's not okay, even when he's bleeding with bones sticking out of his skin. "Wh—what hurts, man? What can I do?"

I hit the radio button on my utility belt. "Falcon to Batman, get here now!"

"My back—my back… oh God…"

I stare as my brother starts to gag. I'm shaking, but I grab him under his skinny ribs to help him sit up and he gasps like I'm running him through with a machete. I almost let go, and let him fall back on the floor, but I don't. I hold on as he pukes all over the place, and after a few minutes, he's still puking.

Concussions make people barf—but what's wrong with his back? Did that sicko-pedophile freak hit him there, too? "Hurry up, Batman"—_so I can kick the shit out that unconscious creep behind me._

Dick's breathing is raspy, and holding him is like holding fire. _Geez, he's really burning up_. Unconscious creep probably didn't have anything to do with Dick's fever, meaning Dickie-bird was working sick. _Idiot_. He should have said something. I'm his partner; I never woulda let him out of my sight. Hell, he wouldna' been out here.

"Asshole, why didn't you tell me you're sick," I hiss at him.

Dick can't answer; he's too busy breathing, but he manages to give me that shit-eating grin of his and a half-choked version of his deranged cackle.

I growl. Suddenly I know why he didn't tell me—or Bruce. That stupid team of his is working on something big, and he doesn't want Bruce pulling him off the mission. "Dumbass. I don't know why people call you the genius."

Dick gives me a better version of his cackle that's interrupted by another sharp gasp. "My back…it hurts."

"Did that son of a bitch hit you there?" I can't get at Dick's back without stripping him down, but I touch it. I run my hand along his spine, starting from his shoulders and moving down to his flanks. When I get to the left flank, he yelps and bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. _Shit. Is that where his appendix is? No, appendix is in front_.

"Y—yeah…" Dick chokes. I see red and am about to get up and grab the sicko's bat again to go Round Two. "But—but it already hurt before. I think…" He starts heaving again.

_Dammit, Bruce, where are you? _

It's then that I see the Bat's shadow spread across on the floor. I don't hear his footsteps; I never do. I look up to see Batman's imposing glare through his cowl. "What happened to him?"

"Son of a bitch beat him with a bat," I say, "a baseball bat. But he's sick; he was sick when he came out."

Bruce presses his lips together in a thin line, something he does when he's pissed. Poor Dickie-bird is gonna get it when he stops puking his guts up. I sit back on my heels, letting Bruce help Dickie-bird sit up while he hurls. We need to get outta here soon. The police are probably on their way here.

_Slow asses._

But the lard in their asses keeps me in tights.

I rise to my feet, making my way over to the pervy-freak who'd hit my sick brother with a bat. I reach for that steel bat and practice swinging it. It's heavy; a professional bat; good for breaking teeth and bones. I swing the bat low, stopping short at hitting the loser in his ribcage… and frown. There is something wrong with the man's ribcage.

Something's wrong.

It's not moving.

But if it's not moving, how is he breathing?

Fear makes me double over. _Oh crap. Oh shit_. I fall to my knees by the filthy guy, touching his neck. _Nothing_. I hold my hand under his nose…over his mouth… _nothing_. _Oh God. Oh God. Oh God._

_Oh my God_.

_He's dead. He's dead. He's dead_.

I killed him.

I killed someone.

_Oh my God_.

"B—Batman." My voice is a pitiful croak that I can barely hear over Dick's loud retching.

"What Falcon?" Bruce's voice is calm, emotionless, even though he's sitting in a room with a dead man and his killer.

_Oh God, Bruce's rules_. Bruce said don't kill. We don't kill. Bruce is gonna hate me. He's gonna disown me and throw me out, and I'll be back on the street—or in juvie!

"He—he's… I think he's… he's dead, Batman. I—I hit him too hard." I sound like a stuttering jackass, but my teeth are chattering so hard I can feel my brain vibrating. My jaws ache and so does my chest, because my damn heart is about to beat right out of it.

I hear Batman breathe in and out, even over Dick being sick.

_Here it comes._ I close my eyes, waiting for Bruce to tell me to get out of his face, to go home and pack, or to wait outside for the police to take me away with the body.

I open my eyes after a minute, because Bruce is still quiet. I look at the guy, my dad really; he adopted me two years ago. Bruce is still holding Dick upright, but he's looking at me. I feel the heat of that look, but I can't imagine what his eyes look like under his cowl. Is he angry, disappointed…?

My shoulders tense, my stomach twists, and my mouth is dry. "Batm…"

"Falcon, get Robin to the car and autopilot it home. Call the doctor and Alfred; tell them to get the cave ready to treat serious injury."

I sit still as Bruce rises with Dick in his arms. He comes to me and motions for me to stand. Once I do, he moves around to my back. "Robin, wrap your arms around Falcon's neck."

I'm still as Dick's shaky arms wind around my neck and I hook my arms under his knees. I stand there for a moment, imagining a damn camera man popping out of nowhere to snap a picture of me carrying my older brother piggyback. But hell, when people see us, they think I'm the older brother because I'm bigger.

"Batman?"

"Go, Falcon!" Bruce gives my shoulder a light push; then turns to the mess—my mess—and I know what he's going to do.

I turn to stare at the dead man—my dead man.

Bruce is gonna clean this up.

I tremble. "B…"

"Falcon, go! That is an order!" Bruce barks and I jump.

"Y—yes sir," I mumble. I move quickly, mindful of Dick on my back. It feels like I'm carrying a bag of hot sand. Dick's nowhere near heavy, but my muscles are like tofu as I leave the warehouse. I use the remote control button on my utility belt to bring the Batmobile to us, and I stand in the cool, misting rain, with my brother burning a hole in my back, thinking:

_God, am I murderer?_

_Is Bruce a bad guy now for covering this up?_

On my back, Dick groans.

"It's okay, bro. I got you."

I know I should feel bad about killing the bastard inside, but I just don't. He raped and then beat little girls to death. None of his victims were older than seven. The sick freak deserved what he got, but I don't want to go to juvie. I don't want Bruce to go to jail.

The Batmobile cruises around a corner and glides to park right in front of us. The doors open and I get Dick inside, laying him down in the backseat. He curls up on his side, one hand going to his left flank and I stare at him. He's pale and sweaty and shivering, obviously ill now, but earlier today he hadn't looked like this. He hadn't even looked like this when we'd first started fighting.

No, that bastard had done this, and now he's dead for it.

The thought makes me want to laugh. I feel my face breaking into a grin and I quickly wipe it off. A man is dead; I shouldn't be happy…

… but I am.

* * *

Author's Note: So, what's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care either way? Well, any way you liked it, let me know. Please review!


	3. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Hey guys! Glad you found your way to Chapter 2.

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Chapter 2

I fill a large sports bottle with filtered water from a pitcher while Dick stares at me. That's all he does lately, stare at me. I turn around and shove the sports bottle in his hands.

"What?" I snap.

Dick tilts his head and sets the sports bottle on the kitchen table in front of him. "You." He frowns at me as I straddle the chair next to him. "You're… being weird."

"Hey, drink that." I push the sports bottle back at him.

The idiot has double kidney infections from not drinking enough water and holding it too long instead of taking a piss when he needs to. It's so bad his kidneys are bleeding and his urine looks like Coca Cola. It's no wonder that sicko-rapist had gotten him down after a few hits three days ago.

I cringe. Bruce hasn't looked at me since that night. He barely even speaks to me… or Dick. It's kinda funny seeing the Golden Boy on Bruce's Shit List, but if Dick's on the Shit List, what list am I on?

Dick takes a slow sip from the bottle, still staring at me. He's got dark half moons under his eyes so big it looks like someone belted him twice and he's white as a ghost. He's not shaking anymore or walking like an old man, but he moves slow and he's still got a fever.

"You're being too nice to me. It's not 'turbing, dude," Dick says.

"Turbing?" I don't know why I asked. I don't want to hear it.

"The opposite of 'disturbing'," Dick says with a grin that fades after a beat. He looks worried about something. "Uh look, I know I kinda freaked you out the other day…"

"Kinda? Dr. Leslie put you in the hospital and you had tubes coming out of you. What the hell were you thinking? What if I hadn't come in to help you right then? That freak woulda killed you, 'cuz you were too fucked up to fight back!"

I blink. My heart is racing, my nerves are raw, and my fists are clenched, ready to fight. My whole body feels hot, like I'm pissed, and I realize that I am. Dickie-bird is on _my_ Shit List, too! I haven't yelled at him yet. He's been too sick. Yesterday, he was in bed all day and before that, he was in the hospital.

"I'm sorry, Jay," Dick said, ducking his head like a little kid. "I just… I thought it was the flu or something, and I can work with the flu. I've done it before, and I had stuff to do. I _have_ stuff to do."

"You better not be doing anything, asshole," I yell. I grip his bony wrist, hard. Dr. Leslie said Dick's kidneys could shut down. She called it renal failure. That's something that happens to old people, not 14 year olds. "Dr. Leslie said you need to rest."

Dick flinches and looks uncomfortable. He won't meet my eyes for minute, then he looks up at me; those blue saucers of his are so sincere it makes my skin crawl. "I'll be okay, Jay."

It's my turn to not meet his eyes. I hate how he can read me so easy sometimes. I'm so used to people I care about leaving me that I expect it. My dad was locked up 'til I was eight and, as soon as he was out, he got himself shot to death. My ma was a crackhead and fried her brain when I was nine. I lived with my Aunt Gigi for a little while, 'til her deadbeat boyfriend beat her to hell, and I kicked his ass. I was on the street after. Bruce and Alfred and Dick have been with me for three years now, and I keep waiting for it to be over. It's too good to stay true.

I feel Dick's hand on my shoulder and I shrug it off, giving him a mocking sneer. "Just drink your water, Dickie-bird. Did you take your horse pills?"

Dick winces and nods. "Almost choked on them."

The antibiotics Dr. Leslie prescribed are big as the cockroaches in Aunt Gigi's fridge. I don't know how Dick gets them down. "Good." I look at my hands, not knowing what to say next. Dick talks so much it's never quiet around him, but it's quiet now, like he's nervous. Like he knows something and doesn't want to talk about it. A flash of fear hits me like a punch in the gut and I narrow my eyes.

Does he know what I did? Did Bruce tell him the rapist is dead?

"Is everything okay with you, Jay?" Dick asks. His voice is soft. "Like, really okay? We can talk—"

"Did Bruce tell you?" I demand; I sound angry but I'm scared shitless. What does Dick think of me? He's always been too good for the likes of me. He's all charm and smarts and morals, and I'm everything but. Why should he like me anymore?

Dick watches me and reaches into the front pocket of his baggy sweatshirt. He extracts a folded newspaper article he's cut out. He opens it up and palms it on the table in front of me.

Third page news: _Suspected Serial Rapist's Body Found in Gotham Harbor._

So that's what Bruce did with him.

"Bruce is avoiding you and you're being way too nice," Dick says, pressing his index finger on the word "rapist" and shifting the article from left to right on the table. "Something's up. Did you…?"

I rip the article away from him and ball it up. Dick doesn't look mad or disgusted but I'm waiting for it. My insides are twisting in all directions. "I hit him too hard. I saw you, and him, and I took that stupid bat from him and smashed the shit out of his head. I didn't mean to kill him, but…" I held up my hands. "And… and so what? A murdering pedo-freak is dead."

I don't look at Dick. I don't want to see his face after what I just said. I can't see those saucers of his filling with pity or scorn. I turn my whole body away from him, and nearly jump out of my chair in shock when I feel his skinny arms closing around my shoulders.

He's fucking hugging me!

"You saved me," he murmurs. "That guy was gonna kill me."

"Uh…"

"I'm sorry I made you have to do that." His voice wavers. "It's all my fault, Jase. I shouldn't have gone out with you guys."

_Wait, what? Dickie-bird's blaming himself?_ I almost chuckle out loud, relief and disbelief making me stupid. Of course he's blaming himself. It's what Dick Grayson does. Everything's his fault. His parents getting killed when he was eight is his fault. Bruce taking him in and taking flack from the Justice League jerks for having a kid partner is his fault.

I fuck up and Dick's acting like _he_ swung the bat. "Dammit, Bird Brain." I shrug his arms off me and spin around so that I can glare at him. Dick looks heartbroken. This kid needs physical contact like crack whores need a hit, but I'm not so touchy-feely.

"Look, nothing's your fault. I messed up, I misjudged and the guy died. Bruce covered it up. End of story," I say. "I don't care about it."

Dick swallows, looking ready to hurl. "But…"

"I don't, okay," I say. "It was an accident." One I ain't sorry happened. Even Dick says that perv woulda killed him. There's no problem.

"If… if you say so," Dick says. "I just…" he trails off. "Thanks, okay." He clasps his hands in front of him, watching me still, but not moving to hug me again—though I can tell he wants to.

_Oh hell_.

I lean forward and put my arms around him, rolling my eyes when he hugs me back, hard. _Sentimental Bird Brain_. I frown; his fever's down but he's still hot, and he feels bonier than ever. My brother is a short, scrawny bugger, but he's made of steel—or at least he is when he's healthy. When he's hurt or sick, he becomes a five-foot-two, 100 pound kid who needs someone bigger to protect him.

Or maybe that's just how I see it.

I let him go and he sits back, grinning at me. "You're getting all sappy on me, Jay. Next I'm gonna catch you looking at _Steel Magnolias_ with a box of Kleenex and Bon Bons."

I make a fist, about to deck him in the shoulder, but I remember how fragile he felt in that hug. I noogie him instead and he pushes me away, laughing. "Jerk," he says.

And that's it. I killed a guy, Dick finds out, and it's cool. I'm happy that Dick doesn't think I'm a monster or something, but isn't this too easy? I broke a big rule and like, a Tenth Commandment. The cosmos must have something planned because this is going too good for me.

The sound of soft patented leather shoes approaching signals Alfred's entrance. I look to the doorway to see him coming in. He's wearing his usual starched and ironed tux and professionally bored expression. His dark eyes light up at seeing Dickie-bird upright. Lots of people's eyes light up when Dickie-bird's around. Adults love patting his head and pinching his cheeks. They know better than to touch me, though.

"Master Richard; how wonderful to see you out of bed. I trust you are feeling better?" Alfred said. He raises a brow at Dick. The man's got truth beams in his eyes. He can always tell when we're lying.

Dick gives Alfie a small smile. "A little. I got tired of being in bed."

_Hyperactive bastard_.

Alfred makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat and runs a finger over the kitchen table, probably checking for dirt. "Well, since you are both here, what would you two like for lunch?"

I make a face. I don't care what I eat. Food is food, and if it comes from Alfie it's usually damned good. I mean, with my mom, I used to eat condensed soup right out of the can. I glance at Dick though. He's not a picky eater, but he doesn't eat a lot, and when he's hurt he doesn't eat at all.

My brother looks whiter than ever and he grimaces. "Alfie, I'm not so hungry."

"You must eat, Master Richard," Alfred says, sounding firm. Sometimes, Bruce says stuff and I ignore it, but when Alfred says stuff I do it. There's just something about the guy that's scary.

Dicks feels the same way. He told me once that he thinks Alfred is a meta in hiding. That's stupid, but sometimes I think Dick is right.

"Uh… maybe a grilled cheese would be okay," Dick says, looking sicker by the minute.

"Grilled cheese sandwiches it is, and how about some soup to go along with it," Alfred says. He bustles over to the pantry, not waiting for Dick to add anything else.

Dick puts his head down on the table with a light moan. "Wonder what grilled cheese tastes like coming back up."

"Probably better than fried chicken. That's just gross, man," I supply and laugh when Dick gives me the finger.

"Master Richard, that is inappropriate," Alfred scolds, but he'd never turned around to see us. The man has eyes in the back of his head.

"Meta," Dick utters and I nod.

Dick and I sit and wait for our sandwiches. I'm always hungry, so my mouth is watering at the growing platter of brown and crispy goodness on the counter top beside the stove. Tomato soup bubbles in a pot beside Alfred's hot, buttered skillet. I'm not the biggest fan of tomato soup, looks too much like blood for me, but Dickie-bird likes it.

My brother is drinking his water like a good boy and shooting queasy looks at the food. Hell, whatever he doesn't eat I will. I'm used to finishing his plates, too. The backdoor swings open, and I tense. Only Bruce would be coming through that door at this time. And I'm right.

Bruce sweeps in still in his three piece suit, carrying his briefcase. He must have come straight home from a Wayne Corp Meeting. I don't know why he bothers to go. He puts on this ditz front when he goes out in public, so no one in those meetings takes him all that serious. If I was him, I would live up the playboy life. Bruce has had some seriously hot chicks walking around this place; though not so much anymore after he caught me and Dick spying on him and one of his bimbos in the Jacuzzi one night.

"Good afternoon, Master Bruce. Will you be joining the boys for lunch? It is just about complete. I will serve you in the dining room."

Dick grunts. He hates eating in the dining room, and I don't blame him. That place is huge and full of china and other really expensive stuff. Makes me nervous that I'm gonna break something every time I walk through there. But, hey, at least Alfie's not expecting us to dress up for it or anything. He usually makes us brush our hair and put on shoes. I'm in jeans and a t-shirt, but Dick's still got on pajama bottoms and his black hair is no man's land.

Bruce sets his brief case on the kitchen table and I hold my breath. This is the closest he's come to me in days. Bruce's severe blue eyes pierce me; he doesn't smile, he doesn't say hello. His eyes go to Dick, who's steady sipping his water and looking miserable, and—of course—his eyes soften—_looks like _s_omeone's off Daddy's Shit List_. Bruce reaches out and places the back of one large hand on Dick's forehead.

"You still have a fever," Bruce says. He tries to smooth Dick's rat nest and fails epically; then his eyes are back on me, and hard as rock. "Jason, I want to talk to you in my study."

I think I gulped. I'm not sure. I just know Dick's looking at me like I'm on a march to the gallows. If he tries to shake my hand, sick or not, I'll punch him.

"Uh… okay, sure," I say. "No problem, Bruce." I start to shake and suddenly the smell of grilled cheese and tomato soup is making me as nauseous as Dick. I follow Bruce out of the kitchen and toward the stairs. Bruce takes the stairs by two's and three's, in a hurry to get to the top. I take my time. He doesn't look back to make sure I'm following him, because I'm sure he knows that I am.

Like I said earlier, I don't always do what Bruce tells me to, but I also don't like to piss him off too bad. I still owe the guy a lot—_a lot_. I'd be in some crappy boys' home if it wasn't for him or I'd be in some loser gang or dead on the street.

My hands grip the rails of the stairs. He's not gonna kick me out. If he was gonna do that he'd have done it that night. No, this is just gonna be some kinda lecture, or punishment. I stop cold, heart falling into my stomach.

What if he tells me I can't be Falcon anymore?

_Fuck_.

My feet won't move. It's more than me not wanting to go into the study; I can't. I stay there on the stairs, staring into space. After a few minutes, I hear Bruce call me. It doesn't matter; I'm still not moving. I can't let him take Falcon away from me. What will I do? Who will help Batman and Robin? Who's gonna watch Robin's back? What about all the killers and criminals that will get away without a third person on the team to run them down?

He can't do it. I won't let him. He can't if I never go…

"Jason." Bruce is in front of me, gripping my shoulders. "Jason, are you all right?"

I blink, staring at him and I do something I didn't think I knew how to do. I grab his hands, my voice high, tears streaming down my face. God, it hurts. "Please… please, Bruce."

"Jason, what…"

"Please don't make me stop being Falcon. I'm sorry. It was an accident. Please, please, don't take Falcon away from me!"

Bruce is still, his hands slack in mine for a moment. His eyes scan me, roving up and down, and resting on my face. I don't know what I look like, a hot mess I bet, but if it's working I don't care. Bruce's features shift from cool to concern.

Concern? For me?

"Jason." He pulls one of his hands from mine and touches my hair. He sighs and I'm pulled into a light hug, right there on the stairs. Good thing Bruce has good balance or we would have toppled backwards. "Come on."

I let Bruce lead me the rest of the way up the stairs and into his study. The blinds are drawn and the room is dark. Long shadows cover the floor. Bruce keeps an arm around my shoulder as he walks the room, turning on lamps. He brings me to the leather loveseat and sits me down; then takes the seat beside me.

"Jason…"

I'm looking at my feet. I'm wearing Dick's socks; they've got Superman logos on them. _Here it comes. Here it comes_.

"I'm not going to take Falcon away from you."

I gasp and stare up at him. His expression is serious and worried.

"But I am grounding Falcon for a while," he said slowly. "At least until Robin is ready to fly again."

Okay, okay, I can handle that.

"And at least until I know that you're okay to fly again, too," Bruce says, his voice wary.

_Until I'm okay to fly?_ I'm not hurt.

"Jason, when you hit that man, you aimed for his head and swung as hard as you could," Bruce says. "I understand you were angry and scared, but your actions that night…"

"I didn't mean to. I should have… I shouldn't have hit him in the head. I shouldn't have used the bat. If I could go back, I wouldn't do it. I just… I thought Dick was dead—that the guy killed him the same way he killed all those little girls. I just—I wasn't even thinking; I just wanted him to pay."

"And that's why I'm worried, Jason," Bruce said. "That line of thinking—it's not abnormal. Your reaction was completely normal; people do feel murderous when their family is attacked, but not everyone has the power to hurt others in the way we can. Your temper is out of control. I've noticed it before this. I should have been watching you better that night. I should have been watching the both of you better. I knew that Dick's movements were off, but _you're_ not as reckless when you work with him, so I let it go. That night is my fault. Both you and Dick got hurt on my watch."

I stare at him, slack-jawed. Bruce is taking the blame and admitting he was wrong about something? Well, hell yeah, he was wrong if he noticed something was wrong with Dick and let him run into a fight anyway. But he'd done it because he thought that Dick could control me, that I need Dick around to make me act smarter.

"That's not it at all!" I shout. I can't believe this shit. Bruce let Dick work sick because he thinks Dick is my leash. "I'm not reckless; I'm good. Bad guys are afraid of me, but when I work with Dick I just—I have to watch his back. I can't fight like I want to because I'd leave him open… like that night."

"You _are_ reckless," Bruce says, voice like steel. "You take unnecessary risks, you cause more injury than required, and you have disobeyed me on too many occasions. This can't continue, not if you want to remain Falcon. You are on probation."

_Which is actually pretty light for killing somebody_. I shouldn't complain, but Bruce's words eat at me like the Joker's acid. I'm reckless. I hurt people when I don't have to. I don't listen. So, what? I get the job done. The people I hurt are bad, and sometimes, I have good ideas that don't make sense to Bruce but they work.

I want to say something, but I don't want to push it. Bruce isn't taking Falcon away; I just gotta wait for Dickie-bird to get better and maybe do some things to get myself in Bruce's good graces. Maybe I'll stop talking back to my stupid science teacher. I could do my homework better, too, and get better grades.

"Okay, Bruce," I say. "I get it. I'll work on it. I'll fix it, and then it'll be okay again."

Bruce studies me in his creepy Batman way, like he's reading my soul. What does he see in it? I know I'm not all shiny and gold inside like Dick, but there's some good stuff in me, too, Bruce sees that.

He has to, or he wouldn't have made me Falcon. He wouldn't let me stay Falcon.

"Go eat your lunch, Jason." Bruce rises from the couch and goes to his desk.

I stay where I am, frowning at him. I want him to comment on me fixing myself. I want him to agree that it'll be okay again. "Bruce?"

"I'll join you for dinner tonight."

I don't want to leave, but he'd used that tone, the one that said: You are dismissed.

I got up to leave. I made it to the door, before he called to me again.

"Jason?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you regret killing that man?" he asks; he's doing the Batman thing, reading my soul.

Can I lie to Bruce Wayne? _Yes_. Can I lie to Batman? _No_. But I still can't answer the question truthfully. I want Falcon to fly again. So, I say, "Yes, I do."

Bruce Wayne nods, but Batman knows I lied.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, what's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care about it either way? Any way you liked it, let me know! Please review! Take care!


	4. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Hey, you found chapter 3!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. (Yeah, it's sad I know).

* * *

Chapter 3

I enter the Bat Cave to see the Boy Wonder doing a made-up parallel bars routine. He does six handstands in a row, swinging under the bar up into a handstand, flipping over the bar and landing in handstand position, swinging under, handstand, flipping over, handstand… I shake my head. Fucking show-off; circus boy never gets enough of throwing hard tricks and having someone clap for him. Bruce is watching, arms folded over his chest, and I'm a little pissed.

It's been a few days since Dick's had a fever and, after a check-up yesterday, Dr. Leslie said that Dick could do some _light _training. This is not light. Yeah, so this might mean Bruce is planning on flying Robin much sooner than Dr. Leslie will approve of, meaning Falcon will fly sooner, too, but dammit, Bruce. Dickie-bird's still got those dark circles under his eyes and I heard him throwing up after dinner last night. I don't want him out there for another sicko-freak to hurt because he can't bring his "A" game.

It just… Bruce puts Batman and the world before us—even his golden child doesn't get to pull a number before Batman and the world do. Dick says he understands, but it hurts him a lot when Bruce ain't here to go to his school stuff or join us for dinner. I get sick of seeing his moon eyes and his phony "Oh well" smiles. I want to kick Bruce's ass. I don't care if Bruce doesn't come to open houses and parent conferences or to dinner, but I do care when he hurts my bro.

Dick dismounts with a perfect double somersault, probably not up to his quad yet. He lands with his feet together and only a slight buckling at the knees, but from where I can see him, he's drenched in sweat. How long's he been at this? Bruce kept him out of school again today—I thought—to rest him up, but this ain't rest.

"How'd I do, Jay?"

I blink. Dick is looking in my direction. I think he wants me to clap. Dream on, Dickie-bird. I walk over to him, picking a towel up off the rack at the edge of the mat and holding it out to him. "You were okay; weak on the dismount."

He snatches the towel from me and swats me with it. "Whatever." He rubs his damp face with the towel and throws it around his neck. "No detention again?"

I shove him. "No detention." I been good. I been biting my tongue in class, a lot. I steal a peek at Bruce. He's coming to us.

Is he gonna to ask me to chalk up? I haven't been allowed to as much as work out in a week. If Dick's getting to train, I should, too.

"How are you feeling, Dick?" Bruce asks, placing a hand on Dick's shoulder.

Dick grins. "Not quite the aster, but I'm okay."

"Good, if you're not too tired, you and Jason spar," Bruce says. He places his other hand on my shoulder and gives me a Batman look. "Show me why I should let the both of you back on the streets."

I can't keep myself from jumping up in the air. "Yes!" I laugh and pound Dickie-bird on the back, and beam at Bruce. "I'll show you, I swear!" And I swear Bruce cracks a grin.

"Somebody's whelmed," Dick says, dropping his towel on the floor. "All right, let me kick your butt and get it over with."

"Water first," Bruce says, motioning to the large sports bottle sitting on a chair behind him. Dick groans and holds out a hand. Bruce tosses the bottle at him, and Dick catches it, popping off the lid.

"Geez… if I drink any more water, I'm gonna spring a leak," Dick mutters, sucking back a few swallows. "Hey Bruce, you're gonna have to give me a minute on a spar. I gotta wazz."

"You always gotta wazz," I call after him as he jogs away.

"You try drinking a gallon of water every day!"

The dude _does_ have to drink a lot of water. I'd probably barf. I like my water with Kool-Aid in it, but there's only so much I can drink. I make my way onto the sparring mat, stretching as I go. The Cave is cold with a draft blowing in from the ceiling. The interior lights in the ceiling and walls are on, but it's still dark in here. Bruce likes it this way; it sets the mood for him I guess. He puts more light in the workout areas, though; so, the mat is well lit.

I shrug out of my sweatshirt, letting it fall on the ground so that I'm just in my tank top and basketball shorts. I kick off my shoes and socks, too. Bruce lets us keep our socks on during spars, but I feel better barefoot. I get more traction that way; plus Dick's freaked out by my feet. I got long toes, and he calls me E.T.

Bruce follows me. "How was school?"

"Good," I say, bending at the waist and touching my toes.

"Your science teacher called my secretary to let me know that you are much improved," Bruce says. I know he wants me to stop stretching and look at him, but I don't. I don't want him reading my mind with that Bat stare. Not that there's anything there I'm ashamed of, but I never know how Bruce is gonna interpret things.

If I'm too excited, maybe he thinks I'll be _reckless_. If I'm not excited enough, maybe he thinks I'm ungrateful or secretly I'm glad not to be Falcon this week.

"I hope this behavior doesn't stop if I let you patrol again," Bruce says carefully. "Your teachers and I know your potential and you can do so much better than what you've been doing with a little motivation."

I don't roll my eyes, because Bruce will know that I am. He's always had a "no pass, no fly" rule. I make B's, and it's always been okay for him; though he expects A's out of Dickie-bird. But Dick goes to a fancy private school, Gotham Academy. All of Bruce's rich friends' kids go there, so Dick's gotta represent. I go to Gotham North Jr. High, public school. With my juvenile record, no private school will take me, even with Bruce Wayne throwing money at them.

"You want me to get A's?" I ask. I finally straighten up, so I can see his eyes. His expression makes me feel guilty. Bruce can be hard, he can be cold, he can put everyone in his life second, but he's still a good guy, and he does care. I can't always tell, because I'm always screwing up and he's always coming down on me, but away from all that he cares about me. Maybe not as much as he cares about Dickie-bird, but I got a place in that heart of his. "I can get A's, if you want me to."

He frowns, and I feel like I've said something wrong. Shouldn't he look happy?

"Jason, I want you to do better in school because you want to," Bruce says. "You'll be in high school next year, and after that college. Your grades are going to decide what schools you can go to."

Me in college? I never thought about it before. I guess I should though. It's not like Bruce would let me _not_ go. But it's like forever away. Why's Bruce so worried about it now? He should be talking to Dick about college. Bird Brain's a sophomore in high school this year, and his counselor wants to skip him up another grade, again.

"Your future is important to me," Bruce says, still looking sad. He ruffles my hair, and looks like he might say something else when Dick comes back.

"All right, Todd. I am ready to kick your butt," he proclaims and he joins me on the mat, scrunching up his nose at my bare feet. "Monkey toes and all."

"No kidney shots, Jason and Dick, don't push yourself," Bruce says. His expression has shifted from Dad to Batman, so I guess I won't get to ask him why he looked so sad earlier. Batman would only glare at me. "Begin."

Dick lets out his deranged chuckle and drops into a low fighting stance; I mimic him, copying his stance, and we circle each other before I attack first.

* * *

We do our homework at the kitchen table over a plate of cranberry oatmeal cookies fresh from the oven. I love cookies; I don't care what kind, so I'm stuffing my face, but Dick's picking at the cranberries.

"I'm going out with the team in a few days. That's why Bruce is letting me train already." Dick breaks a cookie in half and nibbles at it.

I almost spit out the cookie in my mouth in an attempt not to choke. "What?" I _knew_ something had to be up. I wiped the floor with Dick's ass today; that has never happened before. He is _not_ ready to be back in training, and he sure as hell ain't ready to go out with that whack-ass JV Justice League. "Why?"

"They need me," Dick says. "The mission calls for my specific skill sets."

I scowl at him. "And none of those losers can figure out how to modify their plans?"

My brother glowers at me and sets the cookie he's working on down. "It's Batman's plan, and they're not losers, asshole." He talks through his teeth.

I've pissed him off. Dick hates it when I talk bad about his "sidekick" pals, but I can't help it. I don't like them. Wally West is annoying as fuck and Kaldur is a holier than thou pain in the ass. The rest of them I don't really know. I don't visit Mount Justice, and I only met West and Kaldur because Batman took Dick and me out to work with them and their mentors before they made up that dumb team.

The way I see it, Young Justice is taking away from our team: Batman, Robin and Falcon. I mean, if Dick wants to give up patrolling with Batman then I can more than pick up the slack, but it just ain't the same without him around. When Robin's in the mix, Batman's easier to deal with. He's still a hard-ass, but he's been known to crack a smile or two.

"Well, you're not ready to go out with them. You're not ready to go out with _us_. You sucked today, and you still look like shit," I say, glaring at my Pre-Algebra homework instead of my brother.

"I got three days before I go," Dick says. "I'll be all good by then."

"All good? You were just in the hospital pissing blood!" I say. Maybe he forgot, because he was in La La Land while he was there, but I wasn't. "Bruce is really gonna send you out?"

Dick nods. "Already got the mission perimeters."

I push away from the table; my chair scratches over the wooden floor.

"Jay?" Dick asks. He's got a mountain of make-up work in front of him, and he moves it aside along with the plate of cookies. "What are you doing?"

"Going to talk to Bruce," I grumble. I storm away, heading for the clock entrance to the Cave. I run down the stone steps and march right up to Bruce. He's sitting at the Bat computer, running data and looking at multiple files. There are so many data boxes open full of text and strings of code that my eyes swim. Bruce and Dick can sit around and read and write computer codes all day, but I can't stand it. They can keep the techie stuff to themselves; I'm fine with beating shit up.

"Dick told you he's joining the team on a mission this week." Bruce doesn't turn around.

"What the hell, Bruce? You saw him today. You wouldn't let me go out like that," I say. And Dickie-bird's special. Shouldn't Bruce not want him to get hurt? –but then again, he did let him partner me _that night_ when he knew something was wrong. I feel cold.

Does Bruce value Dick so much as a fighter that he'll take risks just to have him on something? Bruce really wouldn't let me go out if I was in Dick's shape… he just doesn't need me that much, I guess.

"I need him in the field," Bruce says. "This mission is important. The team will protect him."

"That team is bunch of half-trained sidekicks!" I clench my teeth go hard my jaws ache. "If he's not 100%, he needs somebody capable of watching his back out there with him."

Bruce is quiet for a moment and then his leather chair spins around so that he's facing me. He steeples his hands in front of him and raises his chin, studying me. "Is Falcon ready to fly?"

_What?_ I stare at Bruce incredulously. "Yeah. Falcon's always ready to fly, but why…?"

"If you want to fly this week, you'll fly with Robin. I can provide you with the mission perimeters, or you can get them from Dick," Bruce says. "You do not have to join the team, but you can be a temporary addition for the time being."

My mouth flaps open. Temporary addition? "No way!"

"Then Falcon can't prove that he's ready to fly," Bruce says simply. He starts to spin his chair back around, but I stop it with my hand. Bruce arches an eyebrow, waiting.

I'm stuck. I want to fly, soon. Bruce said I have to prove myself, and he's giving me a chance. Plus, Dick's going out with JV Justice while he's only 60%. He needs me. _Argh_! Bruce isn't quite smiling, but he looks damn smug. He knows I can't refuse.

I lower my head in defeat and groan. "You're evil, you know that?"

"So I've been told." He is smiling now, that little half smile that just reaches his eyes. "You'll find yourself pleasantly surprised when working with the team, Jason. It might be just what you need."

_Just what I need_?

I ponder Bruce's sad expression from earlier. Should I ask him now what that had been about?

"Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"Do you—are you still thinking about _that night_?" I ask, because what else can it be.

"Yes, Jason. I'm worried about you."

"Why?" My voice is small. The Cave is quiet except for the soft sounds of bats flapping overhead. The answer's obvious, but I want him to answer, to tell me: because you're a killer now, Jason.

"Because you lied to me."

_Because I didn't regret it_.

"Does it scare you?" I ask.

"Yes… because you sound like me. Neither one of you is supposed to grow up and be me. I've got to fix this, Jason; not you. You need more friends, friends like you, and you need to spend more time with Dick. Being around me so much isn't good for you."

My stomach aches. Bruce doesn't want me around him?

"I think…" Bruce began.

"You think what?" I ask.

"Never mind, Jason." His voice is odd as is his face. I don't know how to interpret his expression. It looks like he's in pain. "Go back upstairs."

I don't want to; I want to know what Bruce thinks, but the man has turned his chair around again and his attention is back on the Bat computer.

_What do you think, Bruce? Do you think I'm not worthy to be your partner? Do you think I'm a bad kid? Do you think you should get rid of me? _

I stumble away from his chair. My steps grow steadier the closer I get to the stairs, but Bruce's words make my head hurt. I make it out of the Bat Cave, but I never make it back to my homework. I go to my room and lay in bed, staring at nothing until Alfred tells me lights out.

In a few days, I'll be flying with Dick's team. In a few days, I will prove myself worthy to fly with Batman again… but, for right now at least, I really would trade in flying and proving myself just to know where I stand with Bruce.

* * *

Author's Note: So, what's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care about it either it? Any way you liked it, let me know! Please, reveiw!


	5. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Hello! Here is Chapter 4. Hey, if you guys are reading this, please let me know you're out there! I'd like to give a few more shout-outs to people :)

* * *

Chapter 4

I shoot out of bed at the sound of my bedroom door opening and someone fumbling inside my room. None of my family "fumbles"; I reach for my nightstand drawer and pull out my knife. How the hell did someone get in the manor without the alarms going off?

_Come closer, bad ass; let me cut ya_.

The invader takes another step and there's a thud, the sound of a body hitting the floor. I turn the lamp on. Soft light illuminates a small, huddled figure on the floor wearing my brother's sweats.

_Shit_!

I race over to Dick, falling to my knees beside him. He's on his hands and knees, curled into a ball and shuddering. I touch his back and pull away. He's soaking wet. "Dick? Hey man, are you okay?" Of course he's not, but what else do I ask?

"A… Alf… too far." He starts gagging and I drag him to his feet and into my bathroom. I get him over the toilet just in time for him to start spitting up watery yellow crap. He coughs and chokes and gasps like a dying man, and shakes so hard I almost think he's having a seizure.

I touch his forehead and my stomach becomes a cesspool of knots. He's hotter than ever. "I'm gonna get Alfred!" Because I don't know what to do! I jump to my feet, cringing at the sound of Dick's hacking and spitting into the toilet. "I'll be right back!"

I charge out of the bathroom and into the hallway, screaming, "Alfred!"

The door to Bruce's room crashes open before I get to Alfred's door and Alfred has already opened his door before I can pound on it with both hands.

"Jason, what's the matter?" Bruce demands, and I blink at him stupidly for a second. _What're you doing home_?—I shake my head.

"Dick is throwing his guts up in my bathroom and he's burning hot!"

Bruce runs to my room, and think I might want to follow him, but I'm stuck in place; my legs won't move. I feel Alfred's hands on my shoulders as I shake harder than Dick. When I was little my mom had coke fits and she'd stagger around the apartment like a zombie, all gray with red eyes, scratching her skin up. She'd looked more alive than Dick did just now.

"It'll be all right, lad. Why don't you lie down in a guest room and let Master Bruce and I take care of Master Richard," Alfred suggests. He's just so damn nice and reassuring, and his hands on my shoulders are warm.

I don't do this much, but I turn around and put my arms around Alfred and let the old man hug me. Whenever I hug Alfred, I think: so this is what it feels like to have grandparents who love you as much as your parents do (if your parents ain't jailbirds and crack-heads, that is). Kids at school have them; I think Dick had them at one time, but me, never knew mine. But when I dream about the ones I made up, I make them like Alfred; maybe not so meta-human creepy, but they love me.

Alfred pulls away from me, patting my head. "Run along, Master Jason. You need your rest."

"Alfred!" Bruce yells from my room. "Get a car ready and call Leslie; have her meet us at Gotham General!"

I gasp. The hospital… again?

Alfred ruffles my hair— "Yes, Master Bruce!"—and goes back into his room. I stand in his doorway looking and feeling stupid as I listen to the rustling of the butler getting dressed. What do I do? They can't expect me to go back to sleep.

I run back to my room, skidding inside the doorway. I see Bruce holding Dick in his lap as my brother heaves and chokes up more yellow crap. _What is that shit?_ We didn't have macaroni today. Bruce presses two fingers against the base of Dick's skull, and Dick gasps in pain, causing him to choke more, but after a minute the gagging stops.

"Swallow, Dick," Bruce said gently. "Swallow and breathe. I'm going to lift you."

Dick's teeth are chattering and he can barely nod his head. Bruce gets up with Dick in his arms. He comes through the bathroom door, butting me out of the way. I follow them out of my room. Bruce is walking fast, but he's careful on the stairs, taking them one at a time.

I'm in my pajamas, t-shirt and shorts, no socks, but I'm going with Bruce. Dick sounds like he's crying as Bruce struggles to open the back door into the garage. I push past Bruce, opening the door for them and holding it until they pass through. The purr of a car engine greets us; Alfred sits in the driver's seat of the Benz.

I open the backdoor of the sedan and Bruce lays Dick down inside; then climbs in himself, scooping Dick into his lap and holding him. I shut the door and make my way to the passenger side.

"Jason, you should…"

"I won't fucking stay behind!" I yell, throwing open the passenger side door and jumping in. I buckle my seatbelt and meet Alfred's reproachful stare. I wait for Bruce to tell me to get out, but instead he says, "Let's go, Alfred."

_Wow, no one said anything about me using the "f" bomb_.

"I will be washing your mouth out with soap when we return home, young man," Alfred says as he backs out of the garage and onto the driveway.

_Well… fuck_.

* * *

I'm gonna to throw up, too, in a minute. Bruce doesn't wait for Alfred to stop the car, before he bursts out of the back with Dick a rag doll in his arms. He is through the emergency doors before Alfred finds a parking spot. I hold my trembling hands in my lap. Dick had started choking again, trying to puke but not having anything to bring up. He sobbed between loud retches; it sounded like his intestines were trying to come up. Bruce kept telling him it was all right, but I could tell Bruce was freaked. He kept taking Dick's pulse and cussing and telling Alfred to drive faster.

Alfred puts the car in park and cuts the engine. He lets out a shaky sigh and looks over at me. "Master Jason, I do believe it will do you good to take a breath as well."

I try to do what he says, but my breath is more like a wheeze. I'm freaking out. _What's happening to my brother?_ "Alfred…"

"Master Richard will be just fine, lad," Alfred said. "I dare say he'll get more medicine tonight and be doing handstands on the furniture again tomorrow."

I snort, a weak attempt at a laugh, as I picture Dick doing one-handed handstands on the coffee table and Alfred scolding him. Every surface in the manor is gym equipment to my circus-freak brother. "Don't forget the back flips on the couch."

"Ah yes, and the somersaults over the kitchen table." Alfred smiles at me and reaches over to squeeze my hands. "Shall we go see about Master Richard, now?"

I nod after a beat and I wait for Alfred to open his door and get out first, before I follow his lead.

* * *

The emergency room is crowded with people. There are families with coughing little kids, grungy looking people scratching all over, and gang members that I beat up not too long holding makeshift bandages over bleeding wounds . Over the noise of people talking and crying and coughing, I can hear Bruce shouting at someone.

I wade through the crowd to see Bruce standing, Dick still in his arms, in front of a nurse. A doctor comes out and covers his mouth, when he pulls his hand away, I read his lips: Mr. Wayne! Good God, let him through! Get a gurney for his son right away!

I growl. _Assholes_. I get the feeling they were going to ignore Dick and make Bruce pull a number and wait, until someone recognized that was Bruce Wayne under his sloppy hair and day old stubble.

I make my way to Bruce's side just as two orderlies in white scrubs roll up with a blue gurney. Bruce lays Dick down on it, and Dick gasps and rolls onto his stomach, curling into a ball again. The gurney's moving and Bruce is following. I grab his shirt so that we won't get separated, and Bruce doesn't swat me away. I feel Alfred closing in behind me as we pass through ER Patient Registration straight to the examination rooms.

Bruce, Alfred and I are shoved in a corner of the room, while nurses and the doctor who'd said "God Good" uncurl Dick and take his vitals and blood. Dick starts retching as soon as they get him on his back, and he's rolled onto his side.

"Get a monitor on this kid!" The doctor shouts.

A male nurse pops up in front of us with a clipboard. "Fill this out. How long has your son been ill? Is he on any medication? When did he last take it? How much does he weigh? When did he eat last? What did he eat? When was his last bowel movement?"

His words all jumble together; I don't get what he's saying. I look up at Bruce to see if he's getting any of it. He looks as fucked up as I feel. It's Alfred who takes the clipboard and steps aside with the nurse to answer the questions.

Bruce's eyes are on Dick and mine go to him, too. He's being held straight and still by two nurses as two more nurses hook him to an EKG and tape an oxygen tube under his nose.

"You got the kid's weight?"

"Ninety-five point three pounds."

"No known allergies to medication. Kid's on ciprofloxacin and oral codeine for a duel kidney infection."

"Pulse is thready; BP too low."

"Temperature 105.8."

"I want that blood culture yesterday!"

"Tube this to the pharmacy!"

"Get that cooling blanket on him!"

The med-talk is making me dizzy. I lean against Bruce and his long arm drapes over my shoulders. His body is tight and rigid and his jaw twitches. He's scared. Bruce is scared. Batman… is scared.

Dick's eyes roll back into his head and his body starts jerking.

"Seizure!"

_No, no, no…_ this isn't supposed to happen.

_He's not dying. He's just—just… _

I can't breathe.

"BP's falling!"

I hear myself gasping, and black spots dance in front of my eyes.

"Get the family out of here!"

I can't breathe in here! I rip away from Bruce and run out of the room before anyone can kick me out. I don't stop running even when I get to ER Registration or the waiting room. I burst through the double glass doors that take me outside and into the parking lot.

The cold night air hits me like a truck and I stagger like a jonesing druggie. I gasp and cough until the brick in my throat becomes small enough to swallow. I gulp in air like a drowning man. Oh God. Oh God. I feel myself doubling over and I put my hands on my knees, breathing in and out. _In and Out_.

The last time Dick was here it wasn't like this. Dr Leslie had come to the Cave and she'd wanted to admit him. We drove up in the car, and Dick was a direct admit. Bruce and Dr. Leslie signed some papers and we went straight to the pediatric ward. Dick was hooked up to a few bags of meds and he was talking to me about football before Alfred said I had to leave.

I've seen my brother through broken bones and concussions, punctured lungs and dislocated joints. I've seen him shake off strep throat like it's nothing and turn quadruples with chicken pox. He's a meta in hiding like Alfred. He's always fine. He bounces back like a damn super ball.

So this, this ain't right. He shoulda beat this thing a day after it took him down. Somebody poisoned him. Bruce and me, we shouldn't be at the hospital, we need to hit the streets and kick some bad guy ass and find the cure.

I squeeze my eyes shut as pain shoots from my chest down into my abdomen. I stumble toward Bruce's Benz and sit on the cold ground, back to the driver's side door. I see my mom, gray and bloated, lying on the mound of ratty blankets that had been her bed. I see a table with a bloody white sheet hiding a man-sized lump under it through a glass window—my dad. I see pedo-freak with a bat, dead and going cold on the floor of a warehouse.

Is this my punishment for killing that guy, an eye for an eye? I kill a human stain and I lose my brother? _I'm sorry, God, I'm sorry! There, I regret it. I regret killing the guy; I'm sorry he died_. _I'm sorry_.

_Just don't do this. Don't kill Dick. _

Hot tears roll down my cheeks and my nose runs like a faucet. I don't bother to wipe anything off, and just sit there, a nasty, gooey mess until Alfred shows up.

* * *

Author's Note: So what's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care about it either way? Well, any way you liked it, let me know. Please review! :)


	6. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Hello! I want to thank everyone who's dropped me a line, and to let you know how much those lines mean to me. I'd love to hear from some more people who may be checking this story out. Tell me your thoughts!

* * *

Chapter 5

I wake up at 10:19 am and stare at my bedside clock. It's Tuesday and Alfred didn't get me up for school. There ain't no holidays in October that my school lets us out for, and I'm not sick or sporting big bruises that could get Bruce investigated by CPS. Why am I…?

Last night hits me like a ton of bricks falling on my head. Dick, the hospital, Alfred bringing me home and giving me funky-tasting hot chocolate. The hairy feeling of my tongue tells me I was drugged. I throw the blankets and sheets off, and spring out of bed, running to my bedroom door.

"Alf!" I yell. "Al…"

I reach the stairs and see Alfred standing at the bottom of them, looking as starched and ironed as ever. "Dick…?" I can't get the right words out of my mouth. I don't know what to say or ask. My heart pounds and my stomach burns.

"Master Dick is stable," Alfred says. "He will be just fine in a week or so."

A week? I take the stairs by three's to get to Alfred in record time. "What's wrong with him? I thought his kidneys were better."

"There was a blockage in his left kidney that caused bacteria to leak into his bloodstream. That's why he was so ill last night."

_Bacteria in his bloodstream_. "Blood poisoning." I grab Alfred's hand. "But you said he's gonna be okay, now. Dr. Leslie's gonna fix it?" I sound like a stupid kid asking if the sun'll come out tomorrow. I hate sounding like that, but I can't help it. I need to hear Dick's gonna be okay.

"Yes, Master Jason. The blockage was removed last night, and he is receiving new antibiotics," Alfred says. He gives me a smile. "You had a rough night, young man, and I see the extra sleep has done you some good. How about some breakfast, now, and then we shall go and see Master Dick."

I get to see him. My smile matches Alfred's. "Yeah." Relief almost makes me sick, it comes on so sudden. "Sure, Alfie. Uh…" I look around. "Is Bruce…?"

"At the hospital. He spent the night with Master Dick."

I nod. Good. Bruce needs to be there. Alfred touches my shoulder and guides me to the kitchen where I sit at the table and let him make me an omelet with tomatoes for eyes and bacon for a mouth. I roll my eyes at the kiddy-plate, but I eat it all.

Only Dick is amused by happy-faces on his food; the weirdo cracks up every time. Me, I didn't really understand it when I was a kid, and now… geez, Alfie, don't waste your time. He knows this, but he made me a happy-face anyway. I snort, hiding a smile behind my hand and Alfred winks at me.

* * *

The Pediatric ICU only allows for one family member and two visitors at a time. I scratch my name on the visitor sheet and let a security guard take a mug shot of me to use as my guest pass. I look like a smart ass in the shot, and I ain't ashamed to put the sticky badge right on my breastbone, like the Falcon "F" on my costume. Nurses in multi-colored scrubs give me wary looks, like they wanna ask how I got in here.

_Geez._ I guess I just got a delinquent look to me. Alfred is behind me. He greets the nurses with a "How do you do" that sounds more like, "Mind your business, bitches." (Or whatever Alfred's equivalent of that would be.)

Dickie-bird's in Room 10. I hate walking past all the other rooms and listening to beeping gadgets and the sounds of sick kids inside. This whole place makes me edgy, and the alcohol and bleach smell in the air doesn't help a thing. I stop at the room with 10 printed on the door plaque. All the other doors have names on them, but this one doesn't. Of course it wouldn't. You can't advertise that you got Bruce Wayne's kid _right here_; it's bad enough the press is probably gonna get the memo and start blabbing that he's at Gotham General soon.

I touch the door; then press my ear to it. The TV is on and I hear Bruce talking. He's keeping his voice low, and he sounds soft, gentle. It's weird to hear. He's never talked to me like that. Alfred reaches over my shoulder and knocks on the door, while giving me a look.

"Eavesdropping is a nasty habit, Master Jason."

Which is why I'm so damned good at it. I give Alfred a cheeky grin and push open the door before Bruce can come see who it is. "Yo!" I say as I enter.

I see Bruce first, because he was coming to the door to open it. He looks God-awful. His eyes are bloodshot and he's got hobo stubble worse than Matches Malone's. His clothes are wrinkled and he just looks tired, old man tired.

"Jason, Alfred," he says. His voice is hoarse, like he's got a cold or been screaming all night. I nod at him, and turn my eyes to Dickie-bird. He's lying on his right side, bed slightly raised, and gazing at Alfred and me through half-lidded blue eyes. An EKG monitor beeps behind him, and an oxygen tank hisses as it feeds him extra air through a tube strapped under his nose. An IV pole with four bags hanging from it is parked on the right side of the bed, and an armchair is parked on the left. The deep indents in the chair's leather cushion tell me that it's been Bruce's seat all night.

"Greetings, Master Bruce! Master Richard, how are you feeling?" Alfred drifts to the bed, going to stand beside Bruce's armchair. He runs a hand through Dick's tangled hair, trying to get the elf locks off his forehead. Good luck with that. Hair gel barely does the job. Dude's got crazy thick gypsy hair that does its own thing when its dries without being combed.

Dick murmurs something and Alfie rubs his back making his "tut, tut" noise.

I don't know what to do and my legs are starting to tingle. I should go to the bed, do something, but, fuck he looks really bad. I'm scared to breathe on him wrong. His skin's got this waxy tint to it under a sheen of sweat, the circles under his eyes are almost purple, and his lips are white.

What the hell did this hospital do to my brother? They were supposed to make him better. Why does he still look like he's dying?

"…they're going to do dialysis in an hour," Bruce is saying to Alfred. They're talking over Dick and I stop moving.

Dialysis, like for people with diabetes whose kidneys don't work anymore? "Holy shit, Bruce! His kidneys don't work?"

"Jason!" Bruce snaps. He looks horrified and Alfred looks stern. I guess I was kinda loud, but they just said Dick needs dialysis! Does that mean he needs like a kidney transplant or something?

"Calm down," Bruce says. He's still standing over Dick. He grabs the edges of Dick's blanket and pulls it over Dick's shoulders as he talks. I don't even think he knows he did that. "It's just to help cleanse his system. His kidney function is low, but the doctors are very positive that they can restore it to normal."

Low kidney function, huh? "Is it because you had him working out too hard before he was ready?" I can't put a cork in it. If this is Bruce's fault…

Bruce actually winces. He takes a breath and shakes his head. "No, though I'm sure the extra activity didn't help. Had he been a couch potato this week, he'd still be sick."

I snort and come to the end of the bed. I pat Dick's foot. "Hey." I get a little hum back from him. Wow, the Energizer Bunny has no energy. It's like someone cut his power cord. "So… guess who gets to clean my bathroom when he gets home?"

The corners of Dick's lips twitch and there's a little glimmer in his eyes.

"Yeah, dude. You got barf everywhere, even Alfred won't touch it. I used _your_ bathroom this morning and made sure to use up all your toothpaste. I even got on your socks again. Yeah, that's right. My monkey toes are stinking up your socks."

I get a smile for that last one and I feel bolder. I walk to the side of the bed, by the IV pole and machines, and lean my elbows onto it, peering down at Dick. He smells like antibacterial soap and stale hospital sheets, and he's in one of those skimpy blue gowns that show your ass in back—man, I gotta razz him on that! "You. Look. Like. Shit."

I wait to hear Alfred's "tut, tut" and Bruce's "Jason!" but they don't come. Dick keeps grinning at me, and his left hand, the one with the monitor clip on the finger and the IV injection site taped to it, moves to meet my elbows. His fingers start to curl, but one is left out and pointing at me, and I laugh.

Guess Dickie-bird's never too sick to flip the bird.

"Tut, tut," comes from Alfred, but I hear a snicker and look up to see Bruce turned away from us.

"Master Jason, it is not too late for me to make good on washing out your mouth," Alfred says, but I hear the smile in his voice. "And Master Dick, that is _still_ inappropriate."

* * *

Over the course of a few days, I'm in and out of the Pediatric ICU to see my brother in the afternoons. I don't even go home first. Alfred picks me up from school and brings me straight to the hospital. He usually comes in with me, but today he drops me off. He visits Dick in the mornings, so it's not like he's skipping out on keeping Dickie-bird company.

I walk through the hall of the ICU, smirking at the nurses who give me dirty looks. "Hey!" I wave and they scowl. I hear them muttering about what a good boy Dickie is, and how did Bruce get stuck with "that"—that being me.

"Hey, bro, we need to prank those cows giving you shots…" I trail off, staring at the three occupants of the room: my brother, Wally West and Roy Harper. Damn. I shouldn't be surprised. West and Harper are Dick's buddies, and it isn't a well kept secret that Dick Grayson's in the hospital; of course they'd come. I don't mind Harper, but I really hate West, and the feeling's mutual.

"Hey bro," Dick says. He's sitting up in bed and looking a little less like a cast member from The Walking Dead.

"What's up, Jason?" Harper nods to me. He's sitting in Bruce's armchair, reading a Sports Illustrated. West is sprawled over the end of Dick's bed. He grunts in my direction and I sneer in his.

"Nothing much, Harper. What's up with you?" I shut the door and come to my brother's bedside to touch his forehead. He has an off and on fever; today it's off.

"Where's Bruce?" I ask.

"Work," Dick says. "Alfie's been here most of the day, 'til he left to get you."

"How long have you guys been here?" I ask Harper, ignoring West.

"About an hour," Harper says. "Parking sucks. We had to pay 10 bucks."

"You wouldn't have had to pay if you'd told me you were coming," Dick says.

"It was a surprise!" West says. He sits up and crawls to Dick's end of the bed. I grit my teeth.

"Careful bastard! You're gonna mess up his IV!" I'm ready to choke West.

West glares at me as he settles himself in next to my brother, reclining on Dick's pillows. "I didn't come anywhere near it!"

"You…" I'm reaching for him.

"Guys, stop!" Dick says. He's scowling at us both. "Wally's not hurting me, Jay. And Wally, be nice. You need him."

West groans and folds his arms over his chest, looking away from me, while I narrow my eyes at Dick. West needs me? For what? I already told him what he could do with his stupid hair, his lame super power and his motor-mouth. How much more help can I give him?

Harper doesn't look up from his magazine. He's tuning us out. Wish I could tune West out that easy.

"Why does West need me?" I ask.

Dick gives me his best innocent smile which is full of shit. "What's going on, Dickie-bird?" I'm glad he's feeling better, I really am, but I don't like being played.

"Do you remember that mission I was supposed to go on with the team?" Dick asks, ruffling his hair.

"The one you weren't ready to go on, so Bruce was gonna make me go with you," I say and Dick frowns.

"Bruce was going to make you go?" Dick asks. "Really?"

I shrug. "So what about it? You can't do it. I know you're not even thinking about doing it or I'll kick your sick ass!"

"Aww, shucks… isn't he sweet?" West says and I punch him in the chest.

"Hey!" West moves like he's gonna swing on me and I growl.

"You're gonna pull out his IV!"

"I'm not anywhere near it!"

"Guys, chill," Dick says. He looks at the door, as does Harper. "You're gonna make a nurse come in here, and you know they don't like you, Jay."

"Let them come in here. They can haul West's ass out!" I say. "Now, what the hell about this mission? You don't think you're still going, do you?"

"Not in person." He gives me his angel smile again and I reach over West to poke my brother's forehead.

"Make your point," I say. He's gonna tell me something I'll hate. That's the only reason why he's stalling like this.

"Well, remember how I said the mission needed my skill sets?" He keeps smiling.

"Yeah? You find somebody?"

"Yes…and no," he drawls. West is twitching and now even Harper's looking at me.

"Explain!" I demand. Forget choking West; I'm gonna choke my brother.

"Well, here's the deal. Jase, you're good at stealth and infiltration and you already know Wally and Kaldur, and now Roy's going."

I stare.

"You'll go in, get to a computer access point, and hook your wrist computer to it. I'll do a remote link up from my comp to yours, and we get the job done."

"Why does this sound like a done deal?" I demand. "You know I don't want to work with…"

"Bruce already said you would, and the Team's getting ready. You leave out tomorrow," Dick says, and winces, ready to be yelled at. But you know what? I don't feel like yelling at him. What would I look like picking on sick people? Nah, he'll get his later. I wanna yell at Bruce.

"It's not his fault," West jumps in. "It's not like the Team wants to work with you either! Your _dad_ says we need you."

Translation: Batman says I have to go.

I move to sit on the end of my brother's bed and think. Bruce has been going out on patrol every night, alone. He doesn't ask me to go with him, doesn't ask me to train. That'll probably change when Dick gets home and can really get back into training, but that's gonna take weeks and I really want to go out.

"You're not gonna freak?" Dick seems wary.

I roll my eyes. "What's to freak out about? I got a group assignment, a sucky group assignment, with a sucky group, but work's work."

West growls low in his throat, but Dick puts his hand on West's arm.

"Thanks bro," Dick says to me. "You're saving the West coast."

I raise a brow. "The info for me is at home?"

Dick nods. "Yeah, everything you need to know is there."

I sigh and kick my legs up onto the bed, too. I bounce around a bit. "Dude, this bed is crap. It doesn't hurt your bony ass to sleep in it?"

"Listen to this rich boy," Dick crows. "Dude, I traveled with a circus. I can sleep on anything."

"Anything, huh? You can sleep on…" I work my shoes and socks off and spin around to face him, stretching out my legs and wiggling my toes in his direction "…these?"

"Aw dude! No! Gross! Wally, save me!" Dick wails, leaning over to hide behind West.

"You have the freakiest feet," Harper commented.

The door to the room opens and one of the bitch nurses comes in, hands on her hips. "Need I remind you boys that this is a hospital and your friend is very sick. If you don't settle down I'll have you all escorted out." But the bitch is only looking at me when she says this.

"Hm, wonder what my _dad_ would have to say about that," I say; obnoxious is my middle name.

The nurse glares at me. 'I'm sure he'd be glad that hospital policy was enforced to ensure the continued recovery of his _son_."

She said that like Dick's the only kid Bruce has. My mouth is open as I stare at her. It's one thing for them to glare at me like I don't deserve to be in the same room as Bruce and Dick, but for one of them to actually, verbally, imply it, that's another level.

"Get the hell out of my room and don't come back. I want a different nurse!" Dick shouts. He's holding one of his pillows like an oversized batarang. His face is flushed and his eyes are on fire.

"Richard, you're going to hurt yourself," the nurse says, her tone changing from mean bitch to sweet angel when talking to my brother, but he's not having it.

"Get out!" The pillow flies and the nurse is so stunned she doesn't move. It hits her right in the face and she lets out a little yelp, like a teacup dog. "Get out!"

Hey, I'm cool with violence, but I crawl to my brother to hold his arms down. West is touching his shoulders and Harper is out of Bruce's chair and walking toward the nurse.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but you gotta get out of here." Harper takes the nurse by the arm and leads her out of the room. By then, two orderlies have come to stand in the doorway.

They part so that Harper can leave the room with Nurse Bitch.

Dick's panting and looking as mad as I've ever seen him. "If that lady comes back in here, I'll throw my bed pan at her. Give it to me, Wally, so I can have it ready! No wait, let me take a wazz in it first."

As pissed as I am at that lady, I can't focus my attention on getting back at her. Right now, I'm chuckling at my pipsqueak of a big brother who's ready to kick the lady's ass with a bed pan for insulting me. It makes me feel good, knowing he'd fight for me. There's no feeling like knowing somebody else has your back just 'cause you're family and they love you. I still ain't a hugger, so I don't hug Dick, but I do touch his leg with my foot.

He shrieks. "Yaah! Get your monkey paw off me, man!"

"It's how I hug!" I laugh.

"I do not understand your strange monkey ways, and I know not your customs. Dude, remove the foot!"

"Not 'til you say you love it!"

"Oh my God!" Dick's head falls on my shoulder as he laughs and gasps. "Ow…ow… laughing casualty… crap that hurts."

I rub his back. "You know they're gonna call Bruce about you assaulting a nurse. Bet it'll even make the papers. _Brucie's Brat Runs Amok_," I say.

Dick snorts. "Everyone'll think the article's about you."

Usually, I'd headlock him or something, but I feel the ridges of his spine through his silk PJ's. He's like a twig; I don't want to hurt him by accident.

I hear Harper outside talking to the orderlies that had stood in the doorway earlier. He comes in, looking harassed. "Those guys out there say if it gets loud in here again, we're really gonna have to leave. I didn't drive for two and a half hours to get kicked out after being here an hour, so settle down children."

"Yes, Papa Roy," Dick and West say in unison as I roll my eyes.

Harper plops down in Bruce's chair again and glares at us. "So… everything's good? You okay, Dick?"

My brother nods. His head's still on my shoulder and I look down at him; his eyelids are drooping. I think all that pillow-slinging wore him out. He hasn't moved that much in days. "Hey, you wanna lie down?"

Dick nods again and I help him slide further under his blankets so he can lie down. He rolls on his side and his face pales.

"You okay?" West asks. He looks all worried, like somebody told him Chicken Whizzies went out of style. (Greedy bastard.)

"Yeah. That's just where my kidney stone was," Dick says through his teeth. "Didn't mean to roll that way. Jay, can you help me…"

I'm already moving, but West butts in, "You need help turning over, dude? I got ya!"

_Seriously, West?_ I sit back and let him help Dick roll onto his other side. _Whatever_. See, _this_ is why I hate West. It's like he's competing with me for Dick's attention. I mean, yeah, we both met Dickie-bird around the same time, but our relationships are different; they've always been different. West is Dick's friend; I'm his brother—but West thinks he's Dick's brother just like I am. No way, Kid Loser. There ain't no redheads in this family.

"You look really bad, dude. What else can I do? I can get you a nice nurse," West is talking a mile a minute and giving me a headache. "Or I can get a doctor!"

Dick's on his right side now, facing me, and he gives me a "Just shoot me" look that makes me laugh. "I'm okay, Wally. I just moved too much." He pouts, hands patting the spot where the pillow he'd chunked at Nurse Bitch used to be. He moans.

"You want another pillow?" Roy asks. "Are there some in the closet?"

I shake my head. "He's got every pillow that was in there on his bed. I'll go steal one from the nurse's station. I know where they keep 'em stashed."

"Get a long one," Dick mutters, closing his eyes. West didn't lie. Dickie's looking bad again. Maybe West wasn't off when he wanted to get a nurse or a doctor.

"Be right back." I slide off the bed and leave the room, closing the door behind me. The hallway is kinda empty, only a nurse's aide stands by a cart full of juice and crackers. I snatch a few crackers from under her nose and crunch on them as I make my way to the nursing station.

I hear Bruce's and Dr. Leslie's voices as I approach and stop, hugging the wall.

"I can't let you take him home, Bruce. I will stop you this time."

"I understand your concerns, Leslie, but he'll be safer…"

"Bruce, you know I don't sugar coat things for you, ever, so I'm going to tell you that the boy's kidney functions are not improving as well as they should be. The lab analyses of those kidney stone pieces came back; they're cystine. Cystine stones forming in the kidneys are rare and usually caused by a genetic disorder; it's a chronic condition. And I still cannot track down his family's full medical records, because I don't think any of them went to doctors that didn't operate outside of a traveling trailer. I swear, if you take him out of here now, you'll have to bring him right back. He almost went into sepsis a few days ago. His kidneys are operating at 33 and 51 percent, and he can't keep down solid food. He needs critical care, Bruce."

I hold my breath, not wanting to tip off Bruce that someone's listening to them. A genetic disorder—a chronic condition. There's a lot of things I hate: West, romantic comedies, ketchup on hotdogs… but what I hate the worst is being afraid.

"There's no way you can treat him at the manor? Even if I hire a nurse to help you and Alfred?"

"No, Bruce. He will stay here for at least another seven days, or until his kidney function is normal, if I have to get a court order," Dr. Leslie says, her tone furious. "Your paranoia will not be the death of that boy."

_The death? Shit, Bruce_! I break away from the wall and storm right to Bruce and Dr. Leslie. "You're not taking him outta here!"

"Jason… I'd wondered when you were going to join us," Bruce says. He's in a suit, and he's all shaved and good-smelling, but he still looks God-awful. It's something about his expression; he looks like someone who lost big. Like a guy who's signed over his first born 'cause he thinks the devil won't actually collect, and then he does.

"You can keep Dick safe here, Bruce," I say. "We can keep him safe."

Bruce sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. "I've received some messages, 'friendly' warnings. I'm not pulling Dick out of here because I'm simply paranoid."

"So we'll have some police officers at his door…" Dr. Leslie starts to say.

"Because _that_ works so well in this city," Bruce snaps. "Leslie, I need you to figure something out; Dick can't stay here. Perhaps, I can take him to friends."

Friends, Bruce doesn't really have those, so he means the Justice League. He wants to let the Martian take care of Dick. Yeah, he's some kind of healer, but I never seen his degree and I'm not sure I'll be able to read it if I do see it. What do I know about Martian medical school anyway? The guy could be a drop-out, a flunky, and he ain't experimenting on my brother.

"No!" I say.

Doc Leslie folds her arms over her chest and gives Bruce a hard look. "You heard the kid."

Bruce looks me up and down, his eyes saying: We'll talk later. "I'm going to visit, Dick." He stalks away, and I watch him. Bruce doesn't give up that easy. He's got something planned. I tear my eyes away from his disappearing form and look at Doc Leslie who's also looking after Bruce. "Doc?"

"Yes, Jason?" Dr. Leslie asks.

"Dick's not getting better?"

"Not like he should be," Doc says. "There are more stones forming in his kidneys, and with his kidney functions being so low, the stones aren't being ejected often enough. They're piling up and will cause another blockage and he'll go into sepsis this time."

I shudder. "You can do that laser-thing again, right? To break the stones up?"

The doc nods, but she looks unhappy. "Jason." She clears her throat; her jaw sets and her eyes go sharp. "If Bruce takes your brother out of here, I will submit every file concerning excessive injuries I have on Dick. I will save him, even if it means Bruce losing custody."

I feel the wind rush out of me like Dr Leslie punched me. Bruce could lose custody… the courts could take my brother away. Hell, if they take Dick away, I'd be right behind him. "You can't do that!"

"I don't want to," Dr. Leslie says, "but Jason, I'm a doctor. I have to think about the welfare of my patients at all times. Dick is a minor, and he needs protection from people who might hurt him or let him get hurt."

I'm on fire. I want to hit something, but not her, never her. I ain't like some guys; I got no problem hitting ladies, but I owe Doc Leslie. I don't know what to do. She's not a bad guy, but she might do something as awful as one. "Doc…"

"I know Bruce. I know he's up to something, and if Dick goes missing from this hospital…"

"He won't!" I grab her arms. "Just—just don't do anything." I'm still hot. I really gotta hurt something or I'm gonna blow up. "I… I gotta go, but don't do anything, okay? Call Alfred."

I get to the nursing station and start running. The bitches yell after me, but I can't tell what they're saying. I pass the elevator and take the stairs. I don't stop running 'til I hit the streets. People are just out walking; shopping, laughing… they don't know what's going on in there. They didn't hear the doc say Dick might have some inherited disease. They didn't hear the doc say she's gonna turn traitor if Bruce doesn't do what she says. They don't know anything.

I see a man put his hand on a lady's ass, and I see her smack the taste out of his mouth. The guy grabs her wrist and she shrieks in pain. I push people out of the way until I get to them and grab the guy by his arm.

He whirls around, letting go of the lady to sneer at me. His face woulda' been handsome if he didn't have this big ass scar running down the side of cheek. "What the hell? School out already?"

I smirk at the man a second before I give him a good right cross. He yells and stumbles back. He spits blood from his mouth and wipes his new fat lip on his coat sleeve. People are stopping to watch, and I hear somebody say, "Isn't that one of Bruce Wayne's adopted kids?"

The man comes at me with moves I can see from a mile away and I punch him in the gut; then knee him in the solar plexus. "Next time ask a lady if she wants your fucking hand on her ass!" I yell.

The guy crumples to the ground, wheezing and cussing and I stand over him, ready to keep hitting him, but then he looks at me, his eyes all wild and scared. "H—hey, look, kid; I'm sorry; I'm sorry. Don't… don't… just leave me alone!"

Don't… don't… Don't what? Don't kill me? He thinks I'm gonna kill him? I look at the blood on my fists, and then around at the people crowding the scene. They look horrified. Some people have out their cell phones like they're gonna call the police or take pictures. Shit. I wipe my hands on my jeans, but they still feel sticky with the guy's blood.

I can't be here. I take a step toward the guy. I should help him up or something, but he covers his head and cringes away from me. Damn. I move past him, and the crowd parts to let me through. No one wants to stop me. I scare them; they're disgusted.

What're the headlines gonna read tomorrow: Brucie's Charity Case Gone Psycho?

I take off running again. There's a subway entrance a few blocks over. I can get myself halfway home and then walk the rest of the way. I can't call someone to get me. I don't want to ride in the car with Alfred while I'm like this. Geez, I still wanna hit something. What the hell is wrong with me?

My cell phone vibrates in my back pocket. Could be Bruce, could be Alfred… I don't care. All I care about is getting out, out of the crowd, out of sight… out of my head.

And I wanna wash my hands.

I got bastard blood on 'em.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, what's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care either way? Well, any way you liked, let me know! Please review!


	7. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Thank you guys for letting me know you're alive out there, lol! Big thanks to InspireInspireInspire. I couldn't respond to your review in a PM, but thank you for your comments, and I'm sorry to hear about your cousin.

* * *

Chapter 6

I make the 6 o'clock news on four different channels. There's even tweets from TMZ about me pounding that guy's face into the sidewalk; I got some "likes". Unfortunately, none of those "likes" come from Alfred.

I got back home around 6:30, just in time to meet a furious Alfred (furious meaning one of his eyebrows was raised and his mustache twitched a bit when he talked), who immediately called Bruce to let him know I was home. Alfie tried to talk to me after that, trying to figure out why I went ape-shit. What was I supposed to tell him: I dunno, Alfie, I just wanted to hit something and the guy got in the way of my fists? And hey, I still wanna kick the shit out of something, so move.

To tell the truth, I don't remember what I said to him. I just know he left me alone. I been in the gym ever since, beating the shit out of a punching bag. I don't even bother with gloves; hell, I don't even bother to get outta my school clothes. I did lose the jacket after an hour though.

I don't hear the gym door open, but I see Bruce in my peripheral vision just standing there with his arms folded over his chest. I give the bag one last jab and spin to face him. I know I look a hot mess. Every inch of my body is dripping sweat, and my long-sleeve shirt clings to me like second skin. I use both hands to peel matted hair off my forehead so I can see Bruce better.

I need to know what kinda mood he's in. I have to know what to say to him; how to explain. I owe him something for showing the press how fucking crazy I am. Bruce doesn't look pissed or scared or confused… he just looks like he did at the hospital earlier, tired and completely owned, like he lost it all. The look in his eyes is the same as when he's in Dick's hospital room watching him sleep, like he's watching the world—a world he can't save just because he wants to.

He sees the world in Dick. A lot of older people do… but why is he looking at me like that, now? You don't see the world in guys like me; you see… I shut my eyes, envisioning the crowd on the sidewalk and the pervert on the ground all moving away from me.

Bruce unfolds his arms and clears his throat. In a soft voice, he asks, "Do you want to shower first?"

A shower before "the talk" where you tell me how bad I screwed things up for you? How cell phone videos of me kicking ass on YouTube are gonna make people think you don't know what you're doing with Dick and me?

I don't want a shower. I don't want to wait. Like I wanted to know days ago, before Dick got so sick: Where do I stand with Bruce? "Where are we, Bruce? Am I…" God, how do I ask this? "What are you gonna do with me?"

Bruce's blue gaze doesn't break away from me and it doesn't change; he's still looking at a world he can't save. "I don't know, Jason. But… I'm not doing right by you, am I?"

I blink. Bruce not doing right by me? I almost snort. How much more right does he think he has to be? Feed me, clothe me, make me your kid, gimme a brother; make me a hero… "'Course you're doing right, Bruce!"

_I_ just can't get it right. I make a fist and hiss; my hands are throbbing and sore from hitting the bag so hard for so long. I look down at my bruised knuckles and keep my head bowed. Sweat dribbles down my chin. "There's just something wrong with me. Maybe it's…" like Dick inheriting a kidney disease "…inherited. Everyone in my family is a fuck up. My dad, my mom, my aunt… my uncles are both in prison."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Jason," Bruce says, voice still soft; he's so tired he can't bring himself to yell. "Not like you're probably thinking. You're just angry, scared and confused. Leslie and I talked. We've come to an understanding about Dick's care. She's not going to have to do what she told you she would."

Bruce reaches out and clamps a hand on my damp shoulder. He's stiff and awkward, like touching me is weird. It kinda is. I mean, he gives me pats and one-armed man hugs and things on occasion, but Bruce just isn't huggy—and that's okay.

"I'd never let it go that far," Bruce says. "No one is going to ever take you or Dick away from here. I'm sorry I made you think that I might let something like that happen. I know I don't act like it in front of you… and Alfred's scolded me… but you're very important to me. You two, you're my source of pride. When I look back at all of the things I ruined, bridges I've burned, and then I see you two wrestling each other or saving people, I feel hope."

You see the world, one you want—but with me in it, too?

"You sure you ain't mixing me up with Dickie-bird? Sometimes, he shines so bright he makes other people look better," I say.

Bruce squeezes my shoulder. "I'm not mixing you two up. I'm proud of what you're becoming Jason."

"I'm a guy who beats random strangers in the street senseless and who…" my voice breaks, "kills because he's too stupid not to whack people in the head with baseball bats as hard as he can."

Bruce's face is lined in places it shouldn't be for a guy his age. "You need better outlets. You need to work on your anger issues and moving past your initial reactions. You need to think."

"Bruce, I…" He's making excuses for me, just like he cleaned up my murder scene. What do I say? Bruce, stop giving me chances? Hell, I need every chance I can get and I may not deserve 'em from Bruce, but who else'll give 'em to me? I got nothing to say, except, "So, what now?"

Bruce sighs. "Leslie suggested that you talk to someone."

I stare at Bruce. "A shrink?" Well, yeah, I'm crazy, right? "Okay." I nod. Who knows, I could like the guy or chick. What can it hurt? It's not like I'm paying for it or like Bruce will miss the money. And if it works, and/or makes Bruce feel better then it's all good.

Bruce eyes me. "You want to see a psychiatrist?"

I shrug. "If you think it'll help me, then fine. Whatever. I made you look like sh—er—I made you look bad today; I bet that guy's gonna sue."

"He tried; one of my lawyers dealt with it," Bruce says.

Damn, that was quick. "And you're not yelling at me. I killed a guy, and then I do this, and you're totally Zen."

"I'm not Zen, Jason." He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't even know how to have this conversation. I'm not… the person for this, but I'm messing things up with you."

"You're not! I'm messing things up!"

"You're a child; you're supposed to mess up. I'm not a child," Bruce says. "And I don't know what to do. So, you'll talk to someone, but I don't think that's enough. It wasn't enough for me. Batman made it enough. I don't know if Falcon is making it enough for you, or making it worse."

I cringe and my guts wrap around my spine and pull. After all I've done, do I really deserve to be Falcon? Those bitch nurses could be right about me not belonging with Bruce and Dick. Bruce and Dick don't kill or beat up random jerk-off's on the street. Dick doesn't get in fights at school or have teachers call home to talk about how bad he is.

If Bruce tells me Falcon's dead, then… then…

I'll want to understand.

I'll want to cry.

I'll want to die.

Because Falcon makes me feel good about myself. Falcon is my chance to show I can do good stuff and that I'm not gonna end up like my parents… to tell Bruce: thank you.

"Show me that Falcon's not making it worse," Bruce says. "The Team mission tomorrow is very important to your brother. I trust you'll perform to the best of your abilities."

I feel the wind being knocked out of me by Bruce's words. "What?"

He simply stares at me, his face serious.

"You're… still sending me out with the Team?" I ask. My voice is high with disbelief. After all that he's shipping me off on an infiltration mission? "Are you… are you sure?"

Bruce gives me a small smile. It touches his eyes and I see the world reflected there again.

_God, please make me worthy of that look; make me like Dickie-bird_.

"Do you think you can handle it?" Bruce asks me.

I nod, my eyes are stinging and I wipe at them with sweaty palms. It doesn't stop the tears that escape. Geez. "I'm sorry, Bruce."

And I really mean it this time.

Bruce pulls me into a one-armed man hug. He doesn't say anything, but I know Bruce—and Batman—know I'm not lying. I'm sorry for making him worry; sorry for embarrassing him; sorry for letting him down.

But I won't do it again. This mission is gonna go without hitch, if I gotta pull it off myself. Bruce lets me go, and I pull my long sleeved shirt over my head so that I'm just in my soggy undershirt. "I'm gonna take a shower, then I'm going to read up on the mission. What time should I meet the Team tomorrow?

"Nine hundred hours; I'll bring you in," Bruce says. He pats my shoulder. "You okay?"

I nod, and he looks slightly relieved. In that gentle tone he uses with Dick when his painkillers are wearing off and it's too soon for another round, Bruce says, "By the way, you're grounded for six months."

Well… fuck.

* * *

Author's Note: So, what's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care either way? Well, any way you like it, let me know. Please review!


	8. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Hey all! Sorry for taking so long to do this update;. I got so busy last week. Thank you to InspireInspireInspire for her wonderful reveiws and to WriteonForever. I'd love to hear from some more of you guys :)

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Chapter 7

I actually really like working with Red Arrow. Harper is a cool professional; he's almost like bat family, which made breaking into this place much easier. Star Labs, LexCorp, and Wayne Enterprises all got one thing in common; they all have rich guys footing their bills and covering up their fuck-ups so the masses don't panic. Meyerland, Inc got started by a buncha computer geek rejects from MIT that didn't have a pot to piss in until they wrote the VR Game: Mass Murderer.

You put the helmet on and suddenly you're a death row prisoner escaping into the night after a bloody prison break. Loose on the streets, your goal is to kill everybody in sight. Fun game, right? It sold out in its first week. Then, kids started stabbing their teachers with pencils and bringing guns to the mall.

The game got snatched off the shelves… but the killings haven't stopped in California: Palo Alto, Stanford, Santa Clara, and Sunnyvale the worst hit. Copycat killings have started in Arizona and Nevada. It's like a wave of crazy, washing over teenagers and getting sucked back in like the tide only to come back out later. All the kids caught don't remember killing anybody after the fact, and they don't have criminal records before their murdering sprees.

The FBI locked up the Meyerland Geeks, but this goes much deeper than them.

Red Arrow is in a black suit, shaking hands with a geek in a lab coat. The guy's wearing sneakers, jeans and a Green Lantern t-shirt. I crouch in the shadows in the vent above. Dick mapped out the ventilation system for me. I can follow Red as he's given the building tour, if I want to. Harper's got a tracker on him, so I'll know which direction he's going in even when I get to places where there's no visibility. Tonight, Red's a young professional that wants to invest in special software. Translation: he's a newly made man on business for a big boss who needs his rivals whacked. If only that geek knew the big boss is my brother. Dick really did a shitting good job building this whole thing up. The geek lords accepted Red no questions asked just based on the profile Dick created. I mean he built up a fictional organized crime ring and even hacked some bank codes to make it look like money was stolen by those guys. He started online rumors and made threats, and instigated a small turf war with Kaldur, Super Spawn(Super Boy) and Artemis playing street scum.

I still can't get over that _this_ is what my brother was up to before he got sick and why he pretended not to be sick up until _that night_. Dickie-Bird's a mastermind. And hell yeah, if I had been the one to set all this up, I'd be pissed as hell if I couldn't go in for the bust. Though, Dickie-bird's gonna have to settle for some long distance busting.

_ The outside perimeter of the building is clear._

I scowl at Miss Martian talking inside my head. I hate telepathy, but it is kinda useful right now. Wish green girl had more reach, so Dick can be more in on this. We're in northern Oregon, out past Portland, and in the middle of nowhere. Nothing but dark woods and bad signals for miles. It's a great place to hide a super secret lab. It only sticks out a lot… but then again, nobody comes out here without business. Nobody else knows it's here. Dick only found it by making contact with the geeks and winning an audience for a transaction. This Geek Squad is selective—and well-funded by someone powerful. "…and on behalf of our sponsor, we thank you for your business, Mr. Cavanaugh," the geek in the lab coat says to Red. "Follow me, please."

I know Red can't see me, so I give the telepathic bond thing a try. _Yo, Red Arrow. Keep 'im busy. I'm hooking up to the comp in the room you're leavin'._

_ Be careful_, Red Arrow thinks back.

_Yeah, _I think to Red; then to the team waiting outside: _Stand by._

I look at my wrist comp and type: Going in—F.

A message appears: Motion sensors in the room successfully hacked. Monitors showing old footage. Don't trip—R. Funny. I pull a mini-screw driver from my utility belt and get to work on the grate at the end of the ventilation shaft. I ease the grate off and set it behind me, before slipping down into the room. It's a nice little office with a big wood desk, shiny floors and leather couches. It coulda' done without the anime porn on the bookshelves and the painted portrait of Tron on the wall.

The computer on the desk is homemade; I can tell by the lack of brand name, but I bet it works better than the thousand dollar pieces of shit they sell in stores. I sit down in the rolling armchair behind the desk and plug my wrist comp into the USB port built into the LCD monitor. In two blinks, a dozen grinning Robin heads dance across the screen; my upper lip twitches. My brother's so friggin' weird. The screen flashes and goes black, strings of code zipping across the screen. File boxes pop up and disappear as quick as they come. My eyes hurt looking at it and I cover them for a sec. It's damn amazing how this stuff makes sense to some people. _Falcon, Red Arrow, a black SUV is pulling onto the premise. Four men in black suits are exiting the vehicle. All of them are armed. Miss M says they do not feel overly hostile, but it is a good idea for you to speed along what you are doing. _Aqualad.

I snort softly. I can handle four guys and the geeks in the labs by myself. I ain't worried about it. I look at the comp screen again; a large Robin head has taken over the screen. Its cartoon mouth opens wide as it cackles soundlessly and I get the blue screen of death.

A message appears on my wrist: Files Downloaded, Transfer Complete; Virus Uploaded and Activated—R

I smirk. Then, it's time to light this place up and go.

_A man in a green suit just got out of the vehicle as well. He's holding a cane, _Miss Martian thinks.

_Dude, it's the Riddler! _Kid Loser thinks.

I grin as I unhook my wrist comp. Well, that was almost obvious. A geek operation would be run by the King Geek.

I type in my comp: Riddler's here—F

A message comes back: I knew he would show up. Charges set?—R

_Hey, you guys got the charges ready? _I think.

_What do you think we are? _ Kid Loser snorts. _I set those charges a second after we got here. _

_ Red Arrow, Falcon, exit the building and we will give our warning to the villains._

Only Aqualad can say shit like that without laughing. '_Give our warning to the villains_.' I make my way back to the vent and look at my tracker to see where Red Arrow is. He's in the lab.

_I'm going to take a restroom break in two minutes_, Red Arrow thinks. _The one by the lab will get me into the vent shafts._

_I'll be waiting_, I think.

Back into my rat hole, I go. I screw the grate back in place and follow the map to the restroom where I meet Red Arrow. Within minutes, both of us are traveling to the exit, which is through the roof. Easy stuff; easy stuff. As soon as Red Arrow and I hit the roof, we're grappling down and Kid Losers sets the timers on the charges.

The Team is waiting for us in the foliage around the building.

"Miss Martian," Aqualad nods his head at the green lady whose golden eyes turn white.

_Your facility has compromised. Explosives have been set. You have twenty seconds to evacuate. Your available exits are the front doors._

I smirk. Super Spawn's and Aqualad's job had been to block all the other exits. The only way the bad guys can get out is to come right at us. There's about ten guys in there, and four of them have asthma and pocket protectors.

By now, every computer in the building should have a screen full of snickering Robin heads and the main lights should be out. The building looks dark and I hear the sound of stampeding sneakers. Nerds burst through the front door, screaming and diving for cover. Kid Loser snatches half of them, handcuffing them and tying them to trees in the designated blast safety zone. Aqualad wraps the other two in those water ropes of his and drags them forward. The last six guys, the men in suits, a big guy with hairy knuckles, and the Riddler come out last, guns ready.

The charges are beeping. We set it for two minutes not twenty seconds like we told the baddies, but we still gotta move fast and end this quick. Aqualad signals for us to disappear into the trees. Good idea, bring them to us and away from ground zero.

I hear rapid gunfire and bullets fly, striking trees. Branches are falling and the nerds are screaming.

Kid Loser zips back to the nerds he's got strapped to trees and gets them loose, dragging them behind him. It ain't working out. His balance is off.

"Just let them go!" I yell, diving out of the way of several bullets, but I ain't about to run from these guys forever.

"They'll get shot!" Kid Loser yells.

"Well they shoulda thought 'uh that before they made murder games!" You throws your dice and you takes your chances.

I'm taking my chance now. I speed up and leap into a tree, pulling myself up onto a branch. I stand there, waiting for a baddie to run past. I drop down on the big hairy guy, wrapping my legs around his throat, I squeeze, going for the easy knock-out. The guy chokes and grabs at me, but I flip back, getting him off balance. He's wobbling and flailing, trying to stay upright, and I keep squeezing his neck. I feel him getting weaker. Bullets buzz by my ears, but I got tunnel vision now. I stay on until the guy drops to knees, and I get off when he falls on his face. I take a minute to check his pulse.

_Still livin'_.

I roll out of the way of a guy swinging the butt of his gun at me and come back with a high kick. The guy tries to fire on me, but I slash at his hand with a batarang. Blood spurts from his fingers and wets my cheek. A spin kick gets him on the ground and a quick chop to the throat has him choking. He ain't getting up any time soon.

The bullet spray is letting up. Only two baddies are still standing, but Artemis and Aqualad are dealing with 'em.

And Ol' Eddie's nowhere to be seen.

The ground quakes before the roar of the explosion from the building hits us. I plant my feet and manage to keep standing, but Miss Martian stumbles into Super Spawn who holds her steady.

"I'm going after the Riddler!" I shout over the noise. My ears are popping. Bet he took off in the SUV, but the road here ain't easy, so he can't be far off.

"Shit! You crushed this guy's laranx!" Kid Loser shouts and I whirl around to see him kneeling next to the guy I chopped in the throat. The man's gurgling, but breathing. I don't see the problem.

"He'll be fine. Call me if he needs a trache!"

"Dammit, Falcon!"

I run through the trees, loving the feel of the wind I'm making. Every cell in my body is charged. God, I missed this! I hear an engine and see headlight's cut through the shadows. The road's coming up and I leap, timing it just right. I hit the hood of the car, my boots leaving dents. Inside, Riddler's screaming and cussing. The SUV swerves and I hang on as it veers into the grass and jump off before it hits a tree. The airbag deploys as I roll in the grass and spring back to my feet. I get to the passenger door and break the window to let myself in.

Riddler's fighting the airbag. I grab his shoulder and drag him toward me and out of the car. Somebody's laughing. If my brother was here, it'd be him, but it's me. There is no better high than taking out a big boss. I nail the Riddler in the face, when he swings on me. Then I flip him over, handcuffing him.

I push his face into the ground as he spits out blood and half a tooth. "Long time no see, Eddie."

"I thought Boy Wonder ran with the sidekick team," Riddler spat.

"Thought wrong," I say, pressing my knee into his back. "Whatcha doin' so far from Gotham?"

"Getting away from bats… but you all are like cockroaches. Wherever you go, they follow."

I smirk and dig my knee under his ribs under he cries out.

"I'd rather have Boy Wonder here than you. I'd still have all my teeth," he grunted.

_I got the Riddler down. I'm bringing him back._

I'm getting off Riddler's back, when he lets out a wheezy laugh. "You know Boy Terror, I like your style. How much would it cost for you to come and work for me? I know your type, kid. Knock them out and lock them up isn't going to satisfy you much longer."

I kick the Riddler in the ribs. "You don't know shit about me, Eddie, if you think I'd work for a crook."

He laughs again; I mean really laughs, like I said something hilarious. "Oh, I know you too well, little bird. There's something dark inside you, and you're trying to fight it. You're in denial. We all start out in denial, but in the end…"

"Shut up!" I punch the back of his head so hard it rebounds off the ground, and he's quiet. I hit him again, just to make sure he stays that way. The Riddler always talks too much.

I tie a rope around his ankles and sling the end over my shoulder, dragging Riddler through the woods. Hope I don't quarter him in the process… 'cause it'd be gross.

_Something dark inside me my ass_.

Falcon is not dark.

I walk faster, my arms starting to burn a bit at pulling the Riddler's weight; he's not a big man, but he's a lot larger than me. Why would he think I'd work for him, a criminal, somebody who helps geeks make brain-frying games that turn good kids into killers? Those kids are gonna be messed up for the rest of their lives. I mean, it's not like they killed bad guys; they killed regular folks.

'We all start off in denial.' Who's we? People like him? People destined to be crazy killers and crime lords? I stop walking and kick Riddler in the shins. "I'm not a crazy killer and I'm not like you!" I kick him in the stomach. _Bastard_.

I reach the Team. They've got all the baddies sans one tied together and I drag Riddler into the mix. "FBI on the way?" I ask.

"Yes," Aqualad says, his face graver than usual. What's his problem? He's looking at me like I did something. I blink, noticing all the others are looking at me, too, even Red Arrow.

"We had to call an ambulance, too, you asshole!" Kid Loser snaps. "That guy's in bad shape." He jerks his head to the guy I chopped in the throat.

I shrug. "Hey, he was shooting at us, was gonna shoot me right in the face."

"You didn't have to do that," Kid Loser says. "We—this team—we don't do things like that. You could have just… just knocked him out."

I crack my knuckles and stalk over to choking guy. I take a pen knife from my belt and kneel down.

"Whoa!" Red Arrow grabs my arm and yanks me back. "What are you doing?" I can't see his eyes behind his mask, but his facial features… he looks shocked. I look back at the rest of the sidekicks. Miss Martian has her hands over her mouth and Super Spawn and Artemis look pissed. Aqualad is making his way over and Kid Loser is glaring.

"What the fuck?" I stare back at Red Arrow and the group. Sick realization sinks in. They look like the crowd from yesterday. I clutch the small knife in my hand. They thought I was gonna kill the guy, finish the job I started.

"Falcon…" Aqualad starts to talk but I cut him off.

"I was gonna do a trache. I'm trained, you know!" I shout. "Fuck!" I put my knife away and fold my arms over my chest.

Aqualad stands still, his face changing from condemning to apologetic. "I…apologize for…"

"Keep it." My lip curls in disgust. "Mission complete. The ship is…?"

Miss Martian points and I walk in that direction.

I glance at my wrist comp, and type: Got the Riddler. Coming home—F

Message returns: Feeling the aster?—R

I type: JV Justice Blows. Keep your team—F

I enter Miss Martian's pink ship and take a seat in front. I should be what Dick said, "feeling the aster", but instead what am I feeling? The shit. Bring down some murdering, brain-washing baddies, and instead of "good job", you get accused of trying to kill people… again. I just wanted to take the guy down and have him not get back up and be a threat. I knew my move wouldn't kill him. Maybe I coulda' done something else, but that was faster.

Who cares if the bad guy's gotta breathe through a tube for a few months?

I just don't get it. The baddies do terrible shit and people wanna rant and rave about baddie rights. The way I see it he ain't dead… but he probably has every right to be dead, like that pedo-freak. But I held back, like Batman and Bruce want, like a good hero should. I didn't kill him.

But in JV Justice's eyes, I did.

'I know your type kid.'

The type nurses glare at; the type that can't get into private school; the type that have jailbird dads and crack head mom's? The type everyone judges and pretends to know.

That's not me. Bruce doesn't think that. He knows who I am better than I do, and he thinks the world of me. I don't need this shit anymore; never have. Fuck this team.

I type into my wrist com: U up 4 company 2nite?—F

Message returns: Spending nite?—R

I type: Yea—F

Message returns: Sure. U OK?—R

I type: No. Talk 2 u?—F

* * *

Author's Note: So what's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care about it either way? Well, any way you liked it, let me know! Please reveiw!


	9. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Hello! I want to thank everyone for reviewing the last chapter! I hope to hear from more people checking this out, even if it's bad news. I love seeing what people have to say. It lets me know what to improve or what people might like to see more of.

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Chapter 8

I skip the debriefing. I don't even wanna shower in Mount Crustice, but I also wanna go straight to the hospital so I have ta. I can't show up at G.G. all gross; that's what the bitches will expect. I enter the bathroom and strip down on a bench before stepping into the shower room. My clothes are in Dick's locker. I don't want one of my own. What for? I ain't coming back here ever.

I turn on the hot water and just stand under it. I don't care that it's cold when it first comes out, I just care that it's water and it's washing off all that Riddler stink. The bathroom door opens and closes and I hear someone opening a locker and shuffling things around inside.

I grunt. I really want to be alone right now. Maybe the guy doesn't need a shower, but no such luck. I hear the sound of bare feet plodding toward the showers. The steps are too light to be Super Spawn's (that guy sounds like a herd of elephants coming at ya), and too laid back to be Kid Loser's or Kaldur's. I turn my head to see Harper coming in.

He doesn't say anything as he takes a shower across from mine and turns it on. We lather up in silence. But I'm starting to feel weird with another dude showering behind me, so I speed up. I'll never get used to community showers. They remind me too much of juvie where you have to watch your ass 'cuz a lot of punks like to jump ya in the shower.

I think I take off a layer of skin I scrub so fast. I turn the water off and am about to walk to the towel rack, when Harper says, "Hey, nobody said it before and we should have: good work back there, Falcon."

I almost trip. "Wha…?"

"You did good, kiddo," Harper continues. He doesn't look at me as he washes his red hair. "Sorry about the misunderstanding. You were a little brutal, but I jumped the gun back there."

"Yeah, you should be sorry." I go on to the towel rack and grab two black towels; I knot one around my waist while the other goes around my neck. "See ya."

"Hey, wait." The water shuts off and feet plod toward me. Ugh, I hope he ain't planning on carrying on this conversation while giving me a full frontal. I toss a towel over my head at him, and hear him catch it. "You're my lil' bro's brother, so I have to be nice to you."

I grit my teeth. There ain't no redheads in this family! (No Kid Losers and no Red Assholes). I try to stalk away, but Harper grabs my elbow. I'm about to drop into a low stance and throw him, until he says, "Robin texted me. He says you're going to visit him. Let me drive you."

"I don't need a ride," I growl.

"Robin wants you to get a ride. I think he's worried about you, which is pretty shitty. He's in the hospital puking water and he's worried about someone else. The least you can do is make him feel better about how you get to the hospital," Harper says. He wraps the towel around his waist and grabs a second towel and runs it through his short hair.

I glare at him as my stomach churns with guilt. Now I got Dick all worried about me and Harper's right; it is pretty shitty. Dickie-bird shouldn't be worried about anybody but himself. "When did he start puking water again?" He hasn't done that since Day Two in ICU.

"About two hours ago," Harper says. "He told me not to stick around after bringing you in, because he can't keep anything down."

_Dammit, bro_. I wouldn't have bothered him, if he'd told me all that. Which, of course, is why Golden Boy didn't tell me all that. Idiot. I wonder if I should even go. I should cancel and let him rest, but he's not going to rest after that last text I sent. If I don't show, he'll call me to talk, and if he can't get me, he'll get Bruce. I don't want Bruce to know anything wonky went down on the mission.

"Fine. I'll ride with you," I finally say to Harper.

"Good," Harper says. He swaggers into the locker room. "Hurry up and get dressed. I'm tired of looking at your naked ass."

A more understated "ditto" couldn't be said.

* * *

(~*~)

The bitch nurses are gone and there's a new clerk at the nursing station. Nurse Joseph looks me up and down when I say the code word to be allowed into Dick's room. The male nurse taps some keys on his keyboard and squints at his LCD screen, then at me.

"Jason Todd, family. Go ahead."

I raise a brow at the impersonal douche bag, but hey, at least he doesn't seem to care enough to sneer or glare at me like I'm gutter trash. I make the short trek to Dick's room and I knock and wait. I hear rock music playing and the unmistakable sound of fingers on a keyboard. I push the door open and poke my head inside to see my brother sitting up in bed, pillows propped behind his back, laptop on his TV tray. The main lights in the room are off and the only light is the dull glow of Dick's bedside lamp and the blue glow of his computer screen.

I close the door behind me and creep toward him. The dim lighting casts shadows on the angles of his face, and I frown at how much sharper those angles are today than they were last week. Dickie-bird's losing some serious weight in this hellhole. A basin sits next to his knee along with a box of Kleenex.

"Hey bro," I say. I'm sure he senses my presence. Not much sneaks up on Dick, but sometimes he gets so wrapped up in his nerdy land of microchips Wonder Woman could dance around him butt-naked and he wouldn't notice.

"Hey Jay." His voice is rough and raspy like he's been gargling wood chips. "Did you ride with Roy?"

"Yeah." It wasn't so bad. Harper doesn't just talk to hear himself, so he didn't say much and his taste in music doesn't suck.

"He feels bad about what happened earlier. He told me about it," Dick says. He closes the lid of his laptop and leans back on his pillows, eyes shut, before looking at me. (God, I hate seeing those dark half moons under his eyes.) "Tell me what happened."

I sigh, taking in how Dick is shivering like he's cold despite the heavy blanket, courtesy of Alfie, Inc., around his shoulders, and how he's swallowing like he's trying not to hurl everywhere. "We don't have ta talk about that."

"Bullshit. You're upset. Get up here and tell me what's on your mind. Uh—unless you're scared I'll barf on you and I'll tell you now I can't make you any promises, dude."

I frown and situate myself on the end of his bed. "Harper says you can't eat anything. What happened?"

My brother shrugs. "My new meds make me puke. They're supposed to break up the kidney stones, so I can wazz them out. Let me tell ya, trying to wazz out a rock, not fun."

I wince. "When'd they start you on that shit?"

"After you let me know the mission was done. Dr. Leslie held off on it until then, because I promised not to throw bed pans at the nurses." Dick gives me his prize-winning shit-eater. "Notice anything different when you came in?"

"A lack of bitches," I say.

Dick cackles and smirks. "They're all on the other side of the ward now. Nobody talks smack about my little bro."

I roll my eyes at him, but I can't keep a grin off my face. I really love this guy sitting across from me. I wish there actually is blood between us, so I can give him a kidney to replace one of his shitty ones.

"Roy said you were awesome today, man. You represented," Dick says. "Bruce is gonna give me control of some plans for the bigger crime rings now."

I hope I'm not blushing. I like compliments as much as the next guy, but I don't get 'em much, and when they come from Bruce or Dick or Alfred, I kinda don't know what to do. "Uh… yeah… thanks. You know I had to represent."

He pokes me and I look at him; his smile is gone, and his eyes are serious. "You didn't throw me off with that, Jay. So, what happened today?"

I look at my hands and clear my throat. I came here to talk to him didn't I?—and if he's asking for it, then… "I don't think I did anything bad. I really don't. We got outta that place and the Riddler's lackeys came out after us. They fired some bullets; I took the guys that came too close to me out. One guy I whacked in the throat. I didn't do it too hard. I judged it right. A move like that wasn't gonna kill a big guy like that, but yanno, your team is too goody-goody. They saw the guy choking and thought I fucked up and overdid it. I mean, yeah, the guy was having trouble breathin'; I was willing to give him a trache if it was too much of a problem, but Harper stopped me. They all thought I was gonna just stab the guy in the throat and get it over with."

Dick nods along as words pour out of me. I can't stop; I'm like a busted water valve and… it feels good to get it outta me instead of just thinking about it all.

"I don't like that, man. I don't like that they thought that. That they'd believe I'd do that. It made me think about that guy—that pedo-freak—that was an accident. I misjudged, and I made sure I didn't do it again. I really, really made sure!"

"I know you did," Dick says softly. He scoots forward, grimacing a bit, and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Then that bastard Nigma goes and says shit like 'I know your type. You got darkness in you; you should come work for me'. What kinda shit is that? I'm not like that scumbag—I'm not like any of the scumbags we bring down. So, why'd he say that shit? Oh, and then he laughs like it's funny. I punched his head in for that."

I stop and breathe. Geez, I'm actually light-headed from talking too much. How does Dickie-bird do it all the time without passing out?

"You finished?" Dick asks, hand still on my shoulder.

I nod, nervous: What's Dick gonna say? I avoid looking at him—until the fun-sized bastard starts laughing. "Dude, what the fuck? It's not funny!" I shout.

"Yeah, it is! You're listening to the Riddler? Dude! Ow, dammit…laughing casualty."

I glare at my brother while he holds his right flank and practices Lamaze breathing.

"Okay, okay, I didn't mean to laugh at you, bro." He breaks off to snicker, then gasps in pain. "Damn…damn… okay. But look, the Team, they don't work like us. If I'd have been there, I would have done the trache myself and not thought anything about you being the reason why I had to do it. We do dangerous work, punches fly and shit happens. Dude, pretend like you work with Bruce. He'd have done what you did if the guy was shooting in his face and he had other things he needed to do quick. But Jay, not everyone agrees with how Bruce works, and a lot of those people who don't agree have mentees on the Team. There are certain actions that I won't take when I'm with them that I would if I was by myself or with you or Bruce. It's just… Bat business. We're… meaner. We leave people hanging upside down from buildings, all night, until the police get there. Don't take it so personal, and dude… the Riddler? Geez. What, you gonna take advice from the Joker next?"

I poke his forehead. "Shut it, asshole. Seriously, you don't think I did anything wrong?"

Dick gives me a flat look. "Is the guy dead?"

"Naw."

"Then no," Dick said. "But hey man, even if you don't like my Team, eventually you're gonna end up having to work in a team with other heroes, and a lot of them are gonna turn their nose up at Bat behavior. Bruce is totally used to it."

"And you? You said you adapt what you do."

Dick shrugs. "Hey, if I can _not _scare the shit out of my teammates and still get the job done, I'm down for it. But if something's gotta be done fast, screw all that. I mean, in this one simulation that went crazy, I had to take over as leader of the Team, and I made some decisions that had Wally not talking to me for a while. I didn't like it. And it made me realize something about myself and how I don't want to be… but sometimes necessary roughness is just that, necessary."

A heaviness I didn't know about lifts off my chest and I breathe easier. Hell, I start laughing and Dick tilts his head and raises a single eyebrow. I poke his forehead again and straddle my legs over either side of his bed.

"Dude, are you okay?" Dick asks, but he looks more amused than worried. "You need like anti-Joker toxin or something?"

I shake my head, still chuckling. "Nah." I just loved hearing the Golden Boy say he did things that made West give him the silent treatment. Okay, yeah, Dick can be damn brutal. I never wanna be on the receiving end of some of those kicks and punches he belts out, but there's still a difference in Dick's brutal, and my brutal. He's so clean and smooth with everything. All his moves look like acrobatic ballet; when he lashes out, it's pretty. When I go after somebody, it's hack and bash.

And the aftermath of it all gives me the title Boy Terror and him Boy Wonder. My crooks are spitting out teeth and complaining about future reconstructive surgery, while his are: Damn, did you see those moves? That kid can fly; I don't care that he broke my nose—amazing!

And none of his crooks end up dead or needing traches.

"Did you bring stuff to sleep in?" Dick asks.

I shake my head. I only brought me. I thought I was just gonna go back to the manor tonight. I called Alfred before I left Mount Crustice and told him I wasn't coming home, and he offered to bring me some stuff. I told him it was okay, 'cuz I just didn't feel like seeing or talking to him.

"Did you bring a toothbrush?" Dick presses and I shake my head. "Aw, man. Well, don't think you're using mine."

"Why not? I used it before," I say and grin at his look of absolute disgust. Messin' with Dickie-bird is fun.

"Don't even joke; that's nasty!" Dick says; he continues to glare at me as I continue to grin. "Let me find out you're for real about using my toothbrush, asshole! You better sleep with your eyes open tonight!"

I start laughing again. "Bro, honestly, what are you gonna do to me? I can pick your ass up and throw it out the window."

"Not before I puke on you," Dick says; he flinches again and shifts around on his pillows. The pain seems to remind him he's sick and he looks exhausted. "Hey, do me a favor and move this?" He gestures to his laptop and TV tray.

"Yeah, no prob." It only takes a few seconds to move the TV tray onto the short table next to the "Bruce" chair. I inspect the chair, and grunt to see that the shape of Bruce's butt hasn't made a permanent impression in the cushion after all. "You sure you don't want your laptop?"

"…sure." The sheets rustle as Dick lies down and pulls his blankets tighter around his body. He moans. "You okay now, Jase?"

I'm shutting Dickie-bird's laptop down. There's no reason for it to be on all night if he ain't gonna use it. I glance over at him all curled up and hidden under Alfred's big blanket and pat his side—or at least what I think is his side. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Good. Bruce is worried."

I tense and feel cold. "Bruce talks to you about me?"

"Heard him talking to Dr. Leslie about you. She thinks you need a shrink."

"Yeah, I said I'd talk to one," I say. "Can't hurt anything."

Dick hums. "No, it could be cool. Doc could be a hot chick."

"Or an old man," I mutter. Murphy's law always applies to me, so I'd get the old man, one with a bikini model daughter who is very married and very lesbian.

Dick gives a sleepy cackle. "Old man… with bad breath and hairy ears."

"Jerk." I sit in Bruce's chair, ready to spend the night right here, when a pillow hits me on the head. I snatch at it and stare at my brother, whose back is to me.

"Sleep on the end of the bed, stupid."

I hold onto Dick's pillow tight, so tempted to whomp him over the head with it. Shifting in Bruce's leather chair, I wonder how Bruce ever slept here. But judging from the God-awful way he's been looking, he probably didn't sleep. I toss the pillow onto the foot of the bed; then climb on myself. I lie down and stretch my legs out. Off go the shoes and I let my feet rest by Dick's hip.

"Night, Jay," Dick murmurs.

"Night, Bird Brain." _Thanks_. I don't have to say it, but I know he hears it.

I close my eyes, not tired, but lulled by Dick's quiet.

I feel warm and comfortable and at home just being near Dick. I don't want anything to break this spell, but like I said earlier, Murphy's Law always applies to me.

* * *

Author's Note: So, what's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care about it either way? Well, any way you liked it, let me know. Please review!


	10. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thank you for the reviews for last chapter. I really hope to hear from you after this chapter :) I also want to thank InspireInspireInspire for her reviews.

* * *

Chapter 9

Cold hands on my face wake me up.

"Mmph…" I moan. My eyes flutter open. It's dark and I'm staring at a ceiling without a poster of Wonder Woman on it. Right, not my room. I roll over onto my side and frown. Dick's sitting in Bruce's chair with his knees pulled to his chest and Alfie's blanket over his shoulders like a cape. "You okay?" I croak. I clear my throat and try to get a better look at him. It's hard to see what his face looks like in the dark.

"Shh… listen." His head is tilted back toward the wall.

I hum and roll onto my back again. Rubbing my hands over my face and trying to wake up, I strain my ears. Through the wall, I hear a man murmuring and a woman crying. A machine is beeping, the pulse of it steadily growing slower. My stomach lurches. The kid with the bad heart next door; he never woke up from his surgery a few days ago.

"I saw a priest walk by about an hour ago," Dick says, voice low and solemn. "He's gonna die. He's the second kid to die while I've been here. I hate it."

Beep… beep…. beep … beep.

Of course he hates it. Who wants to lie around listening to kids die around them? I roll over to look at him again, my skinny brother who should be up turning cartwheels by now—the one with blood poisoning and fucked up kidneys who can't eat or drink anything. _Geez, Dickie-bird. All this worrying about you is gonna give me grays_. "Hey man, you're shaking like crazy. Come on, get back in bed."

"I feel better when I sit up."

"How long have you been over there?" I ask. With a grunt, I sit up and stretch.

"A while," Dick whispers. "Can't sleep."

Beep… beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Shit.

"Poor kid," Dick mumbles. "He was only seven."

I never really got a good look at the kid. He was always in bed and wrapped up in his teddy bear blanket from home. I see his ma a lot though. She's a real pretty lady with big brown eyes and light brown hair down her back. She's always in sweats and sneakers and looking like a lady who's run a thousand miles. But whenever she sees me, she kinda smiles and raises her cup of coffee to me. She always has coffee.

"The kid's dad ever come to visit?" I ask. I never see a man coming in and out of the room that isn't a doctor or something.

"Mom's got a restraining order on him. He's a C-List criminal. Knocks off convenience stores and been picked up for possession a few times."

I yawn and swing my legs over the side of the bed. "You looked him up or someone tell ya?"

Dick snorts. "Don't insult me. You know I looked him up. Nathan Larusso, 28 years old, 6'2, and father of one."

I set my feet on the floor and push off the bed. Dick doesn't take up much room in Bruce's chair and I squeeze into it with him. I grab the blanket around his shoulders and pull it around us both. The chill coming off his PJ's makes me shiver through my sweatshirt and jeans. I drape an arm over his shoulders and rub. "You're cold."

"Kinda takes my mind off how shit-tastic I feel," Dick says. He rests his head on my shoulder. "Hear that now?"

We're quiet and I hear what has to be the priest doing a prayer. The mom's crying, and the beeping is completely gone.

"Wonder if they already pulled the sheet over his head," Dick murmurs. "I don't think they should do that while the mom's in the room. Seeing people under those sheets." He shudders, and I know he's thinking about his parents dying.

Dickie-bird's a real happy guy, but nobody can be happy all the time. He has nightmares about when his mom and dad fell. I don't know what I woulda' done if I watched people I cared about fall to their deaths. With the way we live, it really could end up happening. One bad line, and Bruce, or Dick, or me could just fall. You'd think Dick would have a phobia about heights, but he craves being up high like Detective Bullock craves donuts.

"You know Bruce paid for the kid's surgery?" Dick says, and I shake my head. "The mom's a receptionist on HMO. Her insurance wouldn't cover it and she couldn't pay out of pocket. Bruce made sure a Wayne Charity covered it."

Brucie the philanthropist. I ain't being sarcastic. I wouldn't mind one day being known as Jason the philanthropist. Bruce helps people as Batman and as Bruce Wayne and no one's ever gonna give him the full credit he deserves. He does Batman as a secret, and as Bruce, he's gotta hide how smart and consciously generous he is. It's a bum rap, but he doesn't care. I wish he did, though. Batman needs a statue like the Flash got in Central City. Bruce Wayne needs something, too, besides newspaper articles about him running around with other rich socialites getting buzzed at parties and buying sports cars.

One day… oh geez, I don't know. I wanna fix it, make it right, but what do I know about stuff like that. I'll get Dickie-bird to fix it. I know he can figure something out. He might even already be thinking about it: Gotham giving respect to Bruce Wayne while he's still kicking, without finding out he's Batman. Or Gotham just paying respect to Batman.

"Bet Bruce will go to the funeral," Dick continues. "The mom got all flustered when Bruce would stop in the room, but she really likes him. Bruce thinks she's scared about something, though."

"Yeah?" I ask. I'm thinking about Bruce flirting with a sick kid's mom. I mean yeah, she's cute, but damn Bruce.

"Yeah. He's been trying to keep an eye on her," Dick says. "We think she's scared of the dad, Larusso. He hasn't been around, he's not even in Gotham, and I don't think she told him the kid is…was… this sick. He might not even know about him being here."

I blink, feeling kinda angry. Geez, so Larusso is a crook; he's still a dad. My dad was a crook, and he didn't give two shits about me, but if he did and I was in the hospital, I'd want him to know. What if he'd wanted to come out and make sure I wasn't dead? And this guy… his kid's dead. Maybe he woulda wanted to be here with him.

"That's real shitty, Dick," I say. "Real shitty."

"Yeah. I know." Dick goes quiet and I glance down to see that his eyes are closed. I keep rubbing his shoulder, slow and steady.

The priest ain't praying anymore, but the mom is still crying.

How long do mothers cry for their kids, especially when they're all alone?

I don't know.

Wonder if my ma woulda' cried for me if she was still around and not a crack head.

But I guess it don't matter. Alfred would cry. Dick would cry. I don't know about Bruce, but I know he'd do something for me. I know he's gonna do something more for that kid and his ma, but it still ain't gonna stop that lady from crying.

The cold of the tile floor seeps into my socks, and I pull my knees to my chest like Dickie-bird's. He moans as I jostle him with my movements and I apologize. I don't want to hurt him. _Hell_. I shift and turn to the side, so that I'm sitting with my legs crossed, and move Dickie-bird, resting his upper body against my chest. He moans but doesn't wake up, and I fix the blanket around us again.

It's both comfortable and uncomfortable sitting like this. Having another guy practically in my lap is weird, but having Dick so close, and warm and breathing, keeps me from thinking about people losing folks they care about, and crying, and nothing ever being enough to make it stop hurting.

I close my eyes and rest my cheek on the back of the chair. I fall asleep to the sound of a woman crying for her dead kid.

* * *

(~*~)

Alfred is Satan.

The guy comes in at 7:00 am with all my homework I missed from skipping class on Friday to go out with JV Justice. He also brings me a change of clothes and a toothbrush.

"I've snuck you in some strawberry and crème scones, Master Dick. They're still hot and I've got fresh butter." Alfred pulls a thermal lunch kit out of the backpack he brought for me. "Let me set a plate for you."

Alfred fusses about setting up Dick's TV tray over his legs. My bro's back in bed and looking nauseous as hell. One whiff of strawberry scone has him doubled over his basin again.

"Oh dear." Alfred pushes Dick's TV tray back and strokes his back. "I thought Dr. Thompkins said you were being given something to help you with your nausea."

Dick pants over the basin; he doesn't throw up, but his whole body heaves like it wants to. "Ow…ow… The nurse gave me something." He coughs until he gags and Alfred looks ready to hit the call button beside the bed. It sounds God-awful, but he's been doing that since he woke up again at 5:00. I'm kinda numb to it.

"Well, it certainly didn't work. I'll speak to Dr. Thompkins when she comes in on her rounds," Alfred says, his tone crisp and down to business. This man was born to give orders; why is he a butler again?

Alfred goes about fluffing Dick's pillows. He touches Dick's hair and tuts. "When's the last time this has been washed?"

"Two days ago," Dick rasps. He pushes the basin away from him and reaches for a Kleenex to wipe his watery eyes and blow his nose.

I snicker before Alfred can react to the lack of hygiene. Oh man, it is going down. I plant my ass on the end of Dick's bed and help myself to a scone or three. Alfie didn't say anything about bringing food for me, but I'm used to cleaning Dickie-bird's plates. The first sweet, buttery bite melts in my mouth, and the second one does, too.

Dick and Alfie bickering is nothing but a soundtrack for my breakfast, because I'll be damned if I eat what the nurses will bring in around 8:00. I swallow the last bite of the third scone, and pour myself some of the hot cinnamon, apple cider Alfie brought in, too. "What time did Bruce get in last night?" I ask, interrupting Alfred and Dick.

Alfred pauses in trying to comb Dick's hair. (I think he keeps combs and wet naps up his sleeves.) "Master Bruce didn't get in until this morning, around 4:43 am, Master Jason. He's quite exhausted himself and he may not be in to see you, Master Dick, until later in the afternoon."

"That's okay," Dick murmurs. He slumps back, squeezing his eyes shut. The pain on his face makes me feel useless. I can't do anything to make him stop hurting so bad. "He's not injured or anything is he?" Dick asks.

Alfred frowns. "Only the usual bruises, Master Dick. I dare say your strength would best be spent worrying about yourself. The furniture misses your daily gymnastic routines, and the manor is much too quiet. Master Jason isn't quite as adept at making noise as you are."

Alfie's not lying. The manor's been quiet as a tomb without Dick running around and wrestling people (me). He can even get Bruce to play with him.

Dick gives Alfie his first smile of the morning. "Remember you said that, Alf."

"I'll live to regret it, I'm sure," Alfred says drolly, but his eyes twinkle and Dick laughs.

"Yo, you said there was butter. I don't see any butter in here." I'm digging in the lunch kit when the sounds of slamming doors and raised voices have us all looking toward Dick's open door, into the hallway.

"… you kept this from me, you fuckin' bitch! And you let these people kill my son! You killed my son!"

"Sir, I'm sorry but you're going to have to leave…"

"You got some nerve trying to throw me outta here after what you people did! Oh, you ain't seen the last of me! I'm gonna sue your asses! You kill a kid and you…"

"Nathan, he had the best surgeon money could pay for! Bruce Wayne himself…"

"That rich yuppie don't care about nothing but ass and making more money! What's he care about my kid? As far as I'm concerned, he's as much to blame as these flunkies!"

"Sir, you're going to have to leave now."

"Let go!"

I start to stand up at the sound of flesh on flesh. Punches are flying. Alfie's hand on my shoulder makes me sit back down. "No, Master Jason. To act now would not be wise."

"Murderers, the whole lot of you! You killed my kid! You killed him! And you bitch—you bitch—I didn't even get to see him!" The man's voice breaks and he's in tears. I hear shoes squealing and people grunting and struggling… and a woman crying.

I sit, appetite gone as my insides quiver. Fuck… just fuck. Poor bastard did care about his kid and came all the way here to see a corpse. The bite of scone I'm chewing is a rock in my mouth and it's a bitch to swallow, but I manage. I wash it down with apple cider that tastes like dirt and water now.

I glance back at Dickie. He's all solemn and serious. "Poor guy."

"Is that the father of the young man who passed away last night?" Alfred asks, sounding harried. "I wasn't aware that he was a part of the child's life. I've never seen him."

"Restraining order," Dick says. "You heard him. He didn't even know the kid was here."

Alfred shakes his head. "How awful. The boy's mother is a charming woman. If she was keeping the father away, I trust her judgment, but no matter who you are, everyone deserves a chance to say goodbye."

"Yeah," Dick murmurs, "but just because you deserve it doesn't mean you get it."

I frown at him, worried. "You okay, man?"

He turns onto his left side, curling around his body pillow. "Tired."

I watch Dick for a minute. His face is tense and drawn and the fingers of his left hand curl and uncurl. The place in his skin the IV's stuck in is black and blue. Alfred's long fingers ghost over Dick's forehead.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Master Dick?" Alf asks, voice heavy with loving concern. It amazes me how certain sounds can mix together and make a new tone.

"Make Jase brush his teeth," Dick says. A tiny smile touches his lips and I pinch his big toe.

"Jerk!" I snort, but like I wasn't able to change the subject with him last night when it came to me being upset about the Team, he can't make me forget how sick he is.

We're all quiet, Alfred folding my dirty clothes and cleaning up after my breakfast and Dick trying to sleep. I look to the pile of homework Alfred put on the cabinet with the built-in sink and ponder how to make it disappear without actually doing it.

"Master Jason, will you be coming back to manor with me when I leave?" Alfred asks. He only stays with Dick for a few hours before going back to the manor in the mornings.

I'm tired and can't really sleep well here, and I want to eat a full breakfast of real food, but… I pinch Dick's toe and smirk when he kicks. "I can't leave Dickie-bird all alone. He needs me to entertain him."

Dick hums and Alfred quirks a brow.

"Shall I bring you lunch?"

"And dinner?" I grin, hoping I look cute. I duck my head as Alfred comes after my hair with the comb he used in Dick's.

"We'll see, Master Jason."

Alfred sits in Bruce's chair and stays there until around 11. I find out he stays for all of Dick's dialysis sessions and to talk to Dr. Leslie later, when she comes in for rounds, to find out how Dick's _really_ doing. When he leaves, I feel a little abandoned—and bored. Dick's totally zonked out. Dialysis sapped the last inch of energy he had and I'm left watching cable on mute with subtitles.

The halls are relatively quiet. I hear nurses walking down the halls and people talking. I hear the beeping of machines and the hiss of oxygen tanks from other rooms.

And then I hear the unmistakable click of a rolling gun barrel and I'm on my feet too slow. The first shot is thunder in my head and the screams flash like lightening.

"No! Don't be stup…!"

I see an image of the mom with her coffee, giving me a half-smile.

The gun goes off again, and the image is gone.

Pounding feet and lots of shouting… and lots of shooting.

I'm to Dick's door in a split-second, slamming it shut and jamming the lock. Shit. Shit. I need to be Falcon. I need to help the people outside… but… I look to Dick, who's somehow sleeping through this whole thing. I gotta get my brother outta here, first. _He's first_. I run to the bed, shaking him, and putting my hand over his mouth before he can speak.

"Shh…" I mouth the words, "Gunman. Gotta get out."

His blue eyes narrow, focusing for a mission. He nods and struggles to sit up. He flinches and bites his lip hard, body shaking. Shit. How do I move him without hurting him?

Something hits the door hard. "Bruce Wayne's kid is in here?"

I grab Dick around the shoulders and boost him out of the bed. His chest is heaving and his forehead beads with sweat; he tries to help me though. He fumbles to pull out his IV's. I'm looking for our exit. The window. There's a ledge that wraps around the building. But fuck, Dick can't walk on a ledge… can he?

I'm shaking, too; fear making me crazy. _This guy's not shooting at my brother!_

Dick rips out the IV and I keep an arm under his shoulders letting him put his weight on me as we stagger to the window. I try to get it open while he leans against the wall, struggling to breathe.

The gun fires; a bullet explodes through the wood and rips into the wall behind Dick's bed. I throw the window open; cold air smacks me in the face. "Dickie, get out there; I'm gonna take this guy down!"

"Not alone, Jay…!"

"You can't do shit! Just… just get out and get down and hold on!"

I grab Dick, pushing him up onto the window sill. I look down at the ledge and am glad to see that it's kinda wide. He can sit on it. I start to boost him over, and the door bursts open. A tall man with a revolver gives us a wild grin that puts the Joker to shame.

He fires so quick I can't move, a bullet grazes my cheek and Dick cries out; his body slips from my grasp and I hear him hit the floor.

Dickie?

I can't look.

I can't see anything but the grinning joker with his gun. Another bullet flies, and my brother is quiet.

I can't look.

I can't see.

I can't breathe through the rage.

My vision goes black and I'm moving so fast I don't know what's happening. I hear people screaming. I hear a man screaming. But I…

Can't look.

Can't see.

Can't breathe.

Dick's quiet.

He's quiet.

Everything's quiet and I feel wet, and warm and sticky.

I look at my hands… red.

Everything is black and red.

* * *

Author's Note: So, what's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care either way? Well, any way you liked it, let me know. Please review!


	11. Chapter 10

Author's Note: Hey everybody! Thank you so much for the big response last chapter. I hope to hear from you guys again. To all the people who so kindly reviewed but I cannot send you direct responses, thank you! I enjoyed reading your reviews :D. Without further delay, here's what happens next:

* * *

Chapter 10

The bullet nicked his lung but didn't pass through.

He's been in surgery for six hours. The longer it takes the worse it is.

I can't stop the shivering or make my teeth stop chattering. Every time I close my eyes I see Dick on the ground bleeding out. I tried to stop the bleeding, I did, and when I couldn't I… I cried.

"Help him… help him," I whisper.

Something soft brushes my ear and settles over my shoulders. It smells like lavender and peppermint, an Alfie blanket. Alfred sits in the chair next to me, pushing a hot Styrofoam cup into my hands. He holds it steady for me, because I'm shaking so bad.

"Any… anything?" I stammer.

Alfred shakes his head. His face is haggard. "None yet, Master Jason. But when there is something for us to know, Master Bruce will come and tell us."

Alfred and me, we're in the waiting room, but Bruce Wayne? Bruce Wayne gets to sit in the observatory and watch. I'm not mad I can't go. I don't think I could watch.

I close my eyes…

And see it again.

_There's blood all over. On my arms, my clothes, my face, my hair, in my mouth. _

I don't remember what all I did, I just don't. But I remember coming to.

_I'm on my knees, holding the bloody bastard. He gurgles and chokes as he dies, blood gushing over his lips. The gun is slippery in my hand, but I hold it. I guess I got it from him. I musta' broke his hand when I took it, 'cuz his fingers are all twisted up. I shot him through the chin. We musta' wrestled and that was the best shot I could get off. It wasn't clean. _

_He's groanin' and kickin' and twitchin'; blood sprays everywhere._

_ ….I don't think I care about the blood or that he's still alive and in pain. I'm empty as I watch him convulse. I stare into his eyes. They're a brown so dark they look black and his eyes are bleeding red. _

That piece of filth shot my brother.

Nobody hurts him. Nobody shoots at him. Nobody hits him with baseball bats. Nobody touches my family… if you do—if you do…

_I pull the trigger again and nail the filth right between the eyes. The twitchin' stops cold._

_ '"You're dead, man. You're dead."'_

_ And then there's Dickie-bird. _

I tried to make him stop bleeding. I tried!

"It's all right, lad." Alfred's arms are around me and he rocks me like a little kid and I cling to him.

I hear voices talking over and through me.

Police officers… they want my statement, but I think Alfie tells them to go to Hell. Nurses… they want to give me a shot and put me to bed. But I think Alfie tells them to go to Hell, too.

I think… I think Superman is here. That's his voice—or maybe it's not. I don't know.

"Master Jason?"

"Any… anything?" I stammer.

Alfie guides my head to his shoulder and I close my eyes.

_Dick's bleeding. He's bleeding so bad and he's turning blue._

But I killed the bastard who made him bleed. If I'd killed him sooner, if I'd gone out when I first heard the gun, coffee mom would still be alive, Nurse Joseph would still be alive, Dick wouldn't...

I sob so hard it hurts. My whole body hurts and Alfie hums a song. It's low and soft, and it makes his chest rumble. The vibrations travel up my shoulders, through my neck, to my cheek. It feels good, and Alfie's blanket is warm and clean. The cup—the cup of hot stuff. It's gone. I think Alfie took it away. I don't remember.

I'm empty.

I hear more voices.

Nurses… they're talking about shock. Police officers… they want me to say it was self-defense, so they can turn their report in already. I hear Superman—yes, it's him… only he's Clark Kent. He's talking.

"…take him home?"—Clark.

"…boy stays with me."—Alfie.

The room is a bright, white blur. Everything runs together, but looking at it is better than closing my eyes. I keep them open wide; I don't blink.

Alfie's running his fingers through my hair, still humming.

"Al…fie?"

"Yes, Master Jason?"

"Any… anything?"

"Close your eyes, lad."

"Can't…" because Dick's bleeding.

New voices. Alfie is sitting up straight. I hear—it's Doc Leslie! I see fuzzy white lights when I look in the direction of her voice. What's she saying?

Is it anything?

"… that's one tough kid."—Doc Leslie.

"… in recovery?"—Alfie.

"…complications…"—Doc Leslie.

"…."

"…renal failure… collapsed lung…"

"… time without oxygen…"

"…if he wakes up in the next 24 hours…"

"…died on the table…"

I squeeze my eyes shut. Blood everywhere.

"Master Jason?"

Blood.

Everywhere.

Until it all goes dark. No sight; no sound; nothingness. I'm drifting, I'm falling…

…died on the table…

…died on the…

…died on…

…died…

"Master Jason!"

* * *

(~*~)

Hiss—puff.

Hiss—puff.

The ventilator makes sure he keeps breathin'. The anesthesia, the length of the surgery, the trauma from the bullet, and the fact that he's so sick fucked him up. Nothing inside him wants to work right: his kidneys quit, his liver can't decide if it's gonna take a break or stick around, his lungs are full of crap.

The damn EKG beeps when it wants. One time it was quiet so long I almost kicked it. It's gotta be broken 'cuz Dick's heart can't be beating that slow.

Bruce sits at Dick's side, holding one of his hands. His head is bowed and his eyes are closed. His lips move ever so often. I never seen Bruce pray, but I think he is now.

I'm sitting on the window seat, staring out at the wide ledge. I should have moved faster. I could have gotten him over the window sill before that bastard came in—but I took a second too long to look at the ledge, to make sure it was wide enough. I should have known before that. I bet Bruce knew. Bruce is always thinking about exits and escapes. I clench my fists, my bitten up nails digging deep into my palms. I rip open the scars and know I'm bleeding again without looking.

"Jason." Bruce doesn't sound like Bruce. He doesn't sound like Batman. He sounds like a man scared shitless.

"Yeah?" I don't sound much like me either.

"Did Larusso suffer?"

A pigeon lands on the ledge, spreading its wings and hopping like an airplane touching down on a runway. I open my hands to stare at the blood.

"Yeah," I say. It's Larusso's blood on my hands and I smile remembering his grunts and strangled moans and twitches. I hope it was unbearable. I hope he wanted to die before I killed him. He deserved it—all murderers deserve it…before they kill moms and kids. "Yeah, the son of a bitch suffered."

Bruce is quiet for a long time.

Hiss—puff.

Hiss—puff.

"Good."

Bruce goes quiet again. His head is still bowed, and his lips still move, but now I know he ain't praying.

'Good'?

You think I was right to kill him, Bruce?

Hiss—puff.

His—puff.

I try to read his lips, but I'm not that great at lip-reading.

'Good'.

Good—'cuz I think I was right. I know I was right.

Hiss—puff.

Hiss—puff.

God, I'm so empty.

* * *

(~*~)

"Here we go." Doc Leslie stands by the ventilator. She unhooks the ventilator tube from the mask over Dick's mouth that holds the tube down his throat in place. We all watch Dick's chest to see if he'll breathe by himself. Doc thinks he can.

Hiss—….

….

….

Dick's chest is still.

….

….

Oh God. I clutch Alfred's hand and he squeezes mine.

….

….

"Come on, Dick, you can do this, buddy," Bruce says. "Come on."

….

….

Doc Leslie reattaches the ventilator tube.

Hiss—puff.

Hiss—puff.

"It's okay, Dickie. You'll get it next time," Bruce whispers.

* * *

(~*~)

"…so proud of you. You're gifted, Dick."

Bruce never leaves the hospital. He's taken a leave of absence from Wayne Enterprises, and Batman. Lucius Fox runs the business, and Superman flies in Gotham and Metropolis.

I go back to school after a week, because I need to get away from…

Hiss—puff.

Hiss—puff.

…and this strange, grief-stricken Bruce.

School sucks. Everybody keeps telling me they're sorry and asking how I'm doing. I told two teachers to go fuck themselves and I punched one kid in the stomach. They make me see the counselor every day. I told her to go fuck herself, too.

"I found plans for a new suit on your computer, one without a cape. You've always hated capes."

I stand in the doorway. I don't know if I wanna stay. This Bruce, he makes my heart bleed. This Bruce is the soccer dad Dick needs. This Bruce makes it to open houses and school plays and science fairs.

This Bruce will die with Dick.

Hiss—puff.

Hiss—puff.

* * *

(~*~)

Hiss—puff.

Hiss—puff.

Doc Leslie has to put a tube in Dick's kidneys to get the stones out. So many tubes. One for air, one for food, a couple for dialysis, new ones for procedures…

He doesn't wake up for any of it.

Hiss—puff.

Hiss—puff.

* * *

(~*~)

Someone's crying.

It's a low, kinda moaning cry and it's annoying. I open my eyes and gasp at the crick in my neck. I fell asleep in Bruce's new chair next to Dickie's bed. Alfred finally made Bruce go home to bathe and take a nap. I sit up, rubbing my neck and stop.

Someone's crying… and ain't nobody in this room but me and Dickie-bird.

My eyes go to my brother, and… Oh God… Oh God… Oh God.

His eyes, his eyelids are fluttering and he's, he's shaking. The noise, the noise he's making is the sound of somebody about to start fighting a breathing tube. "Dickie-bird?" My voice is high and wobbly. My hand goes for the call button against the wall. I miss hitting it twice; the third time I smack it.

I'm on my feet, taking Dickie's free hand. "Dick, come on, bro. It's okay to open your eyes. It's okay. Come on. Come on."

The muscles in his face contract, like he's hurtin'. Of course he's hurtin'.

"Dickie-bird… I… I… need you to open your eyes, okay? Bruce needs you to; Alfie needs you to. A lotta people need you to. You wanna know who's been here, wanting you to wake up? Bruce won't let many people in here, but you remember Donna? She came. And Barbara. And West. And hey, I was even nice to him. Harper came, too. Clark's been here, and Diana, and Ollie, and Barry… in their suits, though. We're keeping you safe, bro. So, if you're scared, don't be."

Two nurses come into the room and they both rush to Dick, one gently pushing me aside. They start checking his vitals and talking to him.

"It's all right, sweetie. Open your eyes."

"You're in the hospital, honey, on a breathing machine. You're just feeling that tube; it's okay, honey."

Soft choking noises come from my brother, and I move so I can see. He's really shaking now. And… and…

Oh God.

My knees are full of air and water, and I almost fall to them.

I forgot how blue those eyes are.

"Bro." He's looking at the nurses, but when I speak, he looks at me. My heart fuckin' leaps into my throat. I want to start laughing; I want to hug him and squeeze him and do a buncha girly-man shit, but I don't wanna hurt him.

"Richard, honey, look at me. Follow this penlight. Good, good. Becky, go get Dr. Reese, and have Dr. Thompkins paged. Richard Grayson is awake." The nurse that ain't Becky sounds giddy as I feel.

I stand close to Nurse Ain't Becky, close enough to take Dick's hand.

He's still choking on the tube, and Nurse Ain't Becky is trying to calm him down.

I squeeze his fingers and laugh when I feel his fingers trying to curl around mine.

Welcome back, Dickie-bird

* * *

Author's Note: So, what's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care either way? Well, any way you liked it, let me know. Please review!


	12. Chapter 11 and Epilogue

Author's Note: Well, here it is, the conclusion to the first story in the Black and Red universe. I have two more stories completely planned that will cover all of Jason's arc and will be told from his POV, and a few to be told from Dick's POV that will follow another arc. The Black and Red world is too interesting to put away now, I've got to bring Tim and Damien into it after all ). I hope you all enjoy the end of Black and Red and will stick with me for other stories.

* * *

Chapter 11

I have to check on him one more time before going on patrol.

I push Dick's bedroom door open and peer in. His beside lamp is on and his laptop is open, but my brother's asleep. He lies on his side, snoring. As much as I'd love to slam him about it, I know my bro only snores when something's wrong. His lungs are still fucked.

I creep into the room and close his laptop before moving it onto his night stand. "Okay, bro, your turn." I grab a few pillows from the head of the bed and prop 'em up, then, very gently, I lift Dick under his arms and move him so that his upper body's on the pillows. The snoring stops almost immediately. He's got his blankets and sheets tangled around his legs and I sit on the end of the bed, sorting them out.

Dick's only been home a few days, but already this place is starting to go back to normal. I mean, Dickie sleeps most of the time, but just him being here changes the atmosphere. Bruce is Bruce again, Alfie is tutting again, and me… I don't know.

I smooth Dick's bed clothes, spread the sheet and blanket over him, and tuck them around his shoulders and chin.

"Mmm… Jay?"

I pause, and frown at him as he stares at me with those saucer eyes. "You're wearing your thermals."

"Yeah." I fidget.

"You and Bruce are going out tonight?" His voice is drained of energy and hoarse, but he manages to sound like he cares.

"Yeah." Don't know why I feel shy about it. It's like it's my first time going out with Bruce, when I was a nervous wreck, scared I'd screw up everything…and excited as hell to kick ass with Batman. But… it kinda is like it's my first time. It's been almost six weeks since I worked with Bruce, six weeks since my first kill, and two since my second. I'm not the little kid Bruce worked with anymore…

…and Brucie knows that. He was in denial after the pedo, but after Larusso, there's no ignoring it.

I choked on my dinner when he asked me if I wanted to patrol tonight.

After all that's happened, Batman wants Falcon to fly with him again. I can think of a million reasons why he wouldn't want me, and I know Bruce can think of them, too.

"Well, don't trip or do anything too stupid while I'm not there to catch ya, bro," Dick murmurs.

I snort and ruffle his gypsy curls, and he catches my hand before I can pull it away. His saucers are burning me with their intensity. "You're a good guy, Jay. You do what you do to help people. Don't feel bad about it."

I squeeze his hand, wondering if my eyes are as intense as his. I can't tell, because my vision's getting a little blurry. I feel like a chick on the rag around Dickie-bird lately, and I'm tired of wanting to cry. "Even when I shoot people?"

Dick doesn't blink and doesn't let go of my hand. "You didn't shoot a person."

"Wha…?"

"You shot a monster," Dick says. "He doesn't count."

"Are all criminals gonna be monsters, now?" I ask. "Are we changing our rules, crossing that line?" My voice is calm, but my insides are swimming in confusion and anger and grief and God knows what else; geez, I'm a walking pile of shit.

"No," Dick says; he finally turns the saucer beams off. "Because we'd become monsters, too. But…"

But he doesn't want me to feel bad.

I know. I work my hand out of his, and pat his shoulder through his blankets. "Go back to sleep, bro. You want me to let you know when we get back in?"

Dick nods, the set of his jaw tells me he wants to say more, but he doesn't. "Be safe, Jay."

"Goodnight, Dick."

I leave his room, making sure to keep the door open a crack. It ain't really necessary. Alfie's got one of those baby monitors set up in there and he keeps the receiver on him at all times. He can hear Dick from all over the house. Bruce might have one on him, too; in fact, I'd be surprised if he doesn't.

I make my way to the study and open the grandfather clock to access the Cave. It's colder down here than I remember. I haven't been down since the weather took a turn from chilly to cold, and the Bat Cave always feels like the Arctic in the winter. My thermal underwear covers my whole body and seals in heat, but damn Bruce. A little centralized heating wouldn't break the bank.

It only takes a minute to get Falcon's uniform on. It's second skin for me, though it's fitting a little loose in places. Guess Dick isn't the only person who lost weight while he was in the hospital. I start to leave the changing area, but catch a glimpse of Falcon in the mirror. I stop to admire him. Black and gold, a play on Robin's costume kinda. Where his costume is red on black, mine's black on black, but with the same gold hooks, buttons, belts and emblems. The original version of my costume had way more gold in it, but I got over that phase as quick as Robin got over the short pants and green boots. (Geez, that's what happens when you let an 8 year old have a say in his costume design.)

I come out of the changing room. Bruce is sitting at the computer, fingers steepled. I'd usually go stand behind him, but… I just feel like an intruder, like I can't join him until he invites me or something.

"Jason."

At the sound of my name, I do walk up to stand behind Bruce's chair. My hands go up to rest on the back of the leather seat and stop. I don't know if Bruce…

The chair spins around and I jump back. "Whoa!"

Bruce is dressed for a night on the rooftops, but the cowl's pulled back. I got half Bruce Wayne, half Batman staring at me. He looks good, freshly shaven, hair combed; much better than the homeless look he had going on for the past few weeks.

I squirm under his scrutiny.

"How are you feeling?" Bruce asks. He keeps staring at me, dissecting my reaction.

"Me?" Stupid, of course me. "Oh… good, I guess." I trace the gold "F" for Falcon on my breastbone with my index finger. Brucie and me haven't really talked much, not since Dick almost died, not since Dick came back to the manor. There's always a reason for us not to be in a room together for more than a few seconds.

We've become "hi" and "bye" people.

"Uh…" I shrug. "How are you feeling?"

Bruce frowns, his brow knitting as he seems to really take in that question. "Not well."

I blink and step closer. He doesn't look sick or hurt, but that never means anything. Bruce is good at hiding anything that can make him seem weak. "What's wrong? Are you sick? We shouldn't go out, if…"

Bruce is shaking his head. "I…" he trails off. "I did something, said something."

Now, I'm frowning. What the fuck? "Uh… okay? You hurt some lady's feelings?" Since when does Bruce care about what he says to his bimbos? He told one of them her fake boob was lopsided—wait, no; that was me.

"No." Bruce clears his throat. "Jase, I… I said something to you. I wasn't thinking, and I never should have said it."

I flash back to the hospital. Bruce looks like he's praying. Dickie looks like he's dying. And I'm watching pigeons through the window.

_'Did Larusso suffer?'_

"But it was true, what you said. You're glad that bastard hurt before he died," I say it with conviction, because I know I'm right. Bruce can't take that back and give me a lecture about right and wrong. He's fucking thrilled Larusso didn't get an easy way out after what he did to us. He tried to take Dick away, and he almost did, and he was punished.

I think that he still got off easy. He only hurt for a minute or so, Dick will hurt for a long time to come.

Bruce sighs, and looks a million years old for a minute. "Yes, it's true. He wanted to kill Dick; if you hadn't been there, he would have, and I take pleasure in knowing that he won't get away. He won't just be locked in Blackgate, getting three meals a day and talking to defense lawyers who might get him a deal and have him back on the streets in five years. It's normal, to feel like I do, but it doesn't make it right to share that with a child."

"I'm not a child!" I shout.

"You are," Bruce says. He stretches out a hand to me and I am so tempted to smack it out of my face. "I'm sorry, Jason. This is what I should have said to you. I should have said: you're a hero for protecting your brother, but I'm sorry that it was you there instead of me. Killing Larusso was not something that you should have had to do."

"Are saying you woulda done it? No, no you wouldna! And he'd be in jail, and like you said, probably out in five years! He shot Dick. God, Bruce, what if he died? He really, really almost died. Right there, on the floor. I couldn't make him stop bleeding and the doctors and nurses were all hiding and pissing themselves! The police came in first; the fuckin' police."

"Jason…" Bruce tries to cut me off, but no! I gotta fuckin' say this, 'cuz I ain't said it to anybody. It's all inside me, and I don't wanna be a walking shit pile anymore.

I back away from Bruce; I don't want him to touch me, not while I'm talking. My eyes are burning and I'm blinking like crazy to keep back tears. I can't start crying now, not in front of Bruce.

"I don't remember what happened the first time I shot the guy. I kinda woke up holding the gun, but the second time, I was there for it. I thought about Dick and the lady with the dead kid, and I wanted Larusso to pay, to die, and go away forever so he couldn't shoot up another hospital full of moms and kids."

Bruce doesn't break his gaze away from me, and he's not trying to interrupt me anymore. He sits with his hands in his lap, solemn and calm; a damn Batman gaze, and I don't want Batman. I want Bruce… I want… I want my dad.

Not Dick's soccer dad, not my dead, loser of a father, but Bruce, the Bruce that taught me martial arts and how to ride a motorcycle. The one who gives one-armed man hugs and who looks like a deer in headlights when things get emotional. That Bruce.

"I was empty, Bruce. I was empty when I shot him. I'm empty when I think about it, and I don't know that it's bad to be empty, because I was right to kill him. Nothing will ever make me think that I wasn't right. I don't care what you say."

I'm starting to feel hot, to burn; I'm gonna need to hit something soon, to scream. I plop down on my ass right where I am, like a little kid ready for story time, crisscross applesauce. I gotta do something to pin my legs down, or I'll run out of here and do something ape-shit crazy.

I don't know my eyes are closed, or that I'm counting, until I sense someone standing in front of me. I know it's Bruce 'cuz I don't hear him move. I feel knees against mine. Bruce is sitting down on the floor, crisscross applesauce. I open my eyes, and growl as wetness seeps out and runs onto my cheeks. I said I didn't wanna cry in front of Bruce.

I rub at my eyes, my gloves scratch the skin around 'em, making it ache.

"I should have been there," Bruce says, his voice strong. His grip on my shoulders hurts, but I don't make a sound. "You two shouldn't have been there alone. When Alfred leaves, I'm supposed to take his place. I was supposed to be there."

My lips are trembling and I can't make them form words without it sounding funny. Bruce wants to blame himself? "You needed to sleep, Bruce. You needed to eat and take care of yourself. If you'd have been there…" God, if Bruce had been there, would he have been any good to me? The Bruce that woulda been in that room wasn't my Bruce. And I never seen a Not My Bruce fight before. He coulda been the one to get shot… Wait, is that what he wanted?

"You woulda jumped on the bullet. You think you shoulda got shot!"

Bruce's jaw sets and he says nothing.

"If you got shot, I'da still killed Larusso! Nobody messes with family, Bruce. Shit, isn't that why we do this?" I pull at my cape. "A scumbag killed your parents, a scumbag killed Dick's parents… my scumbag parents killed themselves. We're out there getting rid of scumbags because scumbags kill people other people love. Why should we care about a scumbag going out the same way he sends his victims? Why, Bruce? Cuz it makes us no better? Bullshit. Those cops know I shot Larusso dead after he was already down, and they're writing it up as self defense. They don't fuckin' care; they saw what he did. If the law makes exceptions, then why can't Batman?"

"If vigilantes start killing, then we'd lose police support. We'd go to jail just like the crooks," Bruce says.

"But the police at the hospital…"

"At the hospital, you were Jason Todd, son of Bruce Wayne, with a sick brother bleeding to death after being shot by a psychotic ex-con who'd already killed his ex-wife and hospital staff. How would they look pressing charges against you?" Bruce's eyes aren't as blue as Dickie-bird's, but they're still bright.

"But if they bring in Falcon, or Batman, for finally proving to be threats to the community because they aren't opposed to using lethal force? They're not going to worry about image," Bruce says.

"So, this is all about how good you look in public?"

"No, Jason. This is about our safety and our being allowed to continue doing our jobs as protectors of the city," Bruce says. "What you did as Jason Todd… you did nothing wrong, son. Nothing. You are the reason Dick is upstairs sleeping in his bed. But… intentionally killing someone, it hurts you inside. I don't want that for you. And looking at you now… you're not all right. Your school counselor wants you to take a leave of absence from school, to get a tutor. Your teachers agree."

"Fuck them," I say through gritted teeth.

"No," Bruce says and he shakes me. My eyes go wide as Dickie's saucers. "They're right. You need a break from them, from the mundane. Like we talked about earlier, you need an outlet. So, we're going out and you're going to work this out, while at the same time showing me that I can still trust you to do things our way."

Our way? It's "our" way, and not "his" way.

"I think maybe you need to know that you can still do things our way. It's been too long since you've been in costume and worked with me. I want you to remember how we do it and what we do it for. No more accidents," Bruce says.

I blink and cuss at feeling more tears coming. Shit, what do I gotta do to make it stop? I scrub at my eyes again. "You want me to go back to cuffing murdering scumbags and hoping they stay in jail and rot insteada being let out on 'good behavior'."

"Can you?" Bruce asks. "Once you cross that line, Jay, it's hard to come back. You're too young to play the line. If you can't do this, then Falcon is no more."

Falcon is no more. Weeks ago, I thought I could accept that from Bruce. I would cry and feel awful, but I thought it'd be what I deserved. But you know what, I can't accept it, I won't. Falcon is good. Falcon is a hero. Falcon is who I want to be; someone better than my lowlife parents, someone better than what the people who talk behind Bruce's back about me expect.

Falcon has to fly… but he's gonna fly different now.

"I can do it," I breathe. "I won't cross the line"—unless I really mean it.

I grunt in surprise as Bruce's arms close around me and I'm pulled to his chest. He holds me there for a long time. He doesn't rub my back or stroke my hair like Alfie, but he clutches me for dear life, like if he lets go I'll die—or he'll die.

"Don't let me ruin you, Jason. Don't let anyone ruin you," Bruce murmurs. "You're a good kid. Everything you do, every choice you make, comes from your heart. You're passionate and you love so hard it scares me."

I'm rigid in his arms, listening to this big man talk about me. It seems like he's talking about somebody else, to somebody else, 'cuz he can't mean me—but he does.

He still sees the world in me.

And of course I see the world in him, and in Dickie-bird, and in Alfred. That's a world I want to be in; that's a world that's gotta be made. And it can't be made with filth running around killing people and selling brain-frying murder games to kids, and raping little girls.

Batman knows this, but he's too good to do what needs to be done. Robin's too good. Superman's way too good. But Falcon? Falcon's good, but he flies different.

I hear the Riddler in my head.

'Knock them out and lock them up isn't going to satisfy you much longer.'

He was right. I wanna laugh. Old Eddie was right after all, but about the wrong thing. Knocking 'em out and locking em' up ain't gonna satisfy me, 'cuz the bastards get out. Eddie thought I'd turn crook, but I'm turning somethin' else.

Yeah, there is something dark inside me, dark and empty, a place I can go when I start doing what needs to be done.

Bruce lets me go, but puts his hand on top of my head. "Are we okay, Jason? Me and you?"

I nod and grin when Bruce cracks one of those smiles he only gives Dickie-bird. Maybe, just maybe this guy in front of me just might love me almost as much as he loves Dick. And if he does, I don't wanna mess that up by telling him what I decided.

I'm 13. I'll work with Batman and Robin and do things their way. 'Their' way, not 'our' way. When I'm old enough to go solo, I'll go my way. I'll be a different hero, and I'll make it right.

Bruce stands up and offers his hands down to me, to pull me up. I take them and he tugs me to my feet. I feel good standing next to him, like I'm home where I belong. My place is with this hero right now. He's my family.

And nobody hurts my family. Not even me.

I give Bruce's shoulder a soft punch and give my eyes one last wipe. I think the tears have stopped. I reach in my pocket for my domino mask, but before I can put it over my eyes, Bruce gives me a soul-searching stare.

I'm rooted to the floor, holding my mask in weak fingers. What is it, Bruce? What do you see? The world—a good guy—a hero—or a liar?

"Do you blame me, Jason? For what's happened, to Dick, to you?"

I laugh at him, relief flooding through me and making me dizzy. "No."

He tilts his head, still studying me. He knows something's not right; I can't lie to Batman… but I can omit the truth.

"Come on, partner. The street's have missed you." Bruce pulls the cowl over his face, and Batman is now in his place.

"Yeah?" I press my mask over my eyes, and Falcon says, "I missed them, too."

Batman ruffles my hair and we walk to the Batmobile. "Oh, and Falcon?"

"Yeah, Batman?"

"I'm allowing you to go on patrol, but I haven't forgotten that you're grounded. And since you missed a couple of weeks, you'll be starting your sentence over from scratch."

I stop walking, gaping at him as he passes me by continuing on to the car.

Well… fuck

* * *

Epilogue

_On my 14__th__birthday, Bruce lets me have a birthday party at the manor. All my friends show up; we eat cake, and dance, and swim and play video games. I get a lotta presents. Some I want, some I don't. _

_ Thank you Dickie-bird for the pair of Superman socks that come with a note that says: So you can stop taking mine! Thank you Alfie for the dress shirt and tie—Not! And thank you, Bruce, for the surf board and new dirt bike, but that last gift?_

_ You can take it back where you got it from._

_ I don't want a little brother._


End file.
